


Brother's Ashes: The 90th Hunger Games

by TintinnabulousRunes



Series: Tokens and Praises [3]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, Forced Prostitution, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, POV Alternating, POV First Person, The Rebellion Failed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2018-09-25 05:49:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 52,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9805355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TintinnabulousRunes/pseuds/TintinnabulousRunes
Summary: Every family in the Districts has lost someone to the Hunger Games; a child, a sibling, an aunt or uncle, a second cousin. No bloodline has escaped unscathed. Some families are unfortunate enough to lose more than one member.The 90th Hunger Games are about to begin and the bloodshed continues.The sequel to Bay Laurel





	1. Chapter 1

**Reaping Day**

**Lynn Rayna**  
**District 4**  
**Victor of the 87th Hunger Games**

Kelp winds around my legs and I nearly trip over him. Maybe Hyacinth has a point when he says it's intentional. I pick him up and he settles down on my shoulder. He meows softly.

"I'll miss you, too." I tell him.

Kelp mews again and head-butts my face. I give him a scratch behind the ears and continue walking up the stairs. He knows something is wrong but doesn't understand what. To him, I've been acting strange. And I have been, with the stress of my approaching return to the Capitol.

Hyacinth is still asleep when I get to the bedroom. He's moved so he takes up pretty much the entire bed, arms and legs splayed across the sheets. When he's asleep, he's like a liquid. If I'm in bed, he'll curl around me in spite of the risk of the occasional elbow to the gut if I wake with a start (but I don't have to sleep with a knife anymore at home). The second I'm up, he moves to fill the empty space.

Kelp squirms in my arms and jumps onto the bed. He walks onto Hyacinth's stomach and starts batting his face. Hyacinth is normally the one that feeds him in the morning. I've already fed him but apparently Kelp wants a second breakfast. Hyacinth awakens with a snort.

"What are you doing up already?" He asks in a half-asleep mumble.

I'm not sure if he's asking me or Kelp. Being the one who can speak English, I answer, "It's after six and the concealer takes forever to apply."

"Right." Hyacinth says and stretches, his joints popping. "Can you throw me a pair of pants?"

I grab the pair of grey pants I bought him last year. He'd hit a late second growth spurt and grew a full inch out of his old Reaping clothes. I toss him the pants and a pair of fresh underwear. His cloths have filled a whole column of shelves in my closet as he has begun spending most nights over whenever he is now down at Beach Town. It's oddly domestic. I've grown to accept the fact I'm still alive and have a real future ahead of me, but the proof of that always surprises me.

Looking through the closet, I don't know what I want to wear. Having more than one choice for Reaping clothes is weird, even though this is my third year attending the Reaping as a Victor and my second year mentoring.

Agrippa mentioned what the color that's in season right now at one point. It was some kind of flower name, honey-something. But was dark pink despite honey being, well, honey colored.

Being "on trend" for fashion things helps with getting sponsors. Capitol citizens care so much about their appearance and rather be seen with Victors who look good. Most sponsorships are gotten at parties, so being invited to parties is important. Being fashionable means getting invited to parties. It's stupid, but it's the way it works.

I own a few pink things. Nothing matches the honey-flower-color exactly so I just grab the nearest one that is medium pink of some sort. Close enough.

The dress is short enough that it needs to be paired with leggings of some sort. Agrippa had told me actual lengths for what should be with what at one point but I wasn't paying close enough attention to remember. There's a pair of dark grey leggings I haven't worn before. Those will work.

It's too hot for a jacket so I don't have to worry about having that matching everything else as well.

I shrug off my night grown and step into the leggings. Leggings are always uncomfortable but they love them in the Capitol so I get stuck in them a lot. I slip on the dress.

"Want a hand?" Hyacinth asks.

Between the scarring on my right hand and my left side, I have trouble with back zippers. I need to ask Agrippa to make sure the next dresses have side zippers instead. I might be able to program that into the wardrobe as well if I need anything while I'm in the Capitol.

I turn so Hyacinth can reach the zipper. He zips up the back of my dress then rests a hand on my shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze.

"Thanks." I tell him.

I lay my hand over his and the trembling slows, even if it does not stop entirely. This is one of those feelings moments where I should say something, but can't. There are too many thoughts that are racing through my head and I know if I start saying them, I'll dissolve into a sobbing mess, which won't help anyone.

"I can do your hair while you put on the concealer." Hyacinth offers.

I squeeze his hand. "That'll be great. Do you think it's long enough to do up in a chignon?"

By the way I can feel his arm move, I can tell Hyacinth shrugs. "Dunno. I can try."

We head over to the bathroom. Kelp follows us, weaving between our legs. This must be a fun challenge for him, trying to trip two at once people instead of taking us out individually.

I take a seat at the little vanity I only ever use when I have to deal with Capitol citizens. I pass Hyacinth a comb and some bobby pins. My favorite thing about Hyacinth doing my hair is the way he'll hold the bobby pins in his mouth to keep his hands free, then inevitably tries to talk around them.

As Hyacinth works on parting my uncooperative hair down the center, I get out the bottle of concealer. I fill in the deep gouge that mars my cheek. Most of the work is in trying to get the concealer properly flush with the rest of my cheek then blending everything in with the contouring powders. Metella has shown me how to do it at least twenty times, but I'm still not the best at it. I'm passable enough when the cameras are not focused on me, but I have a large number of frustrated Capitol makeup artists that have to deal with me whenever I'm doing interviews or even just going out to parties to catch sponsors.

"Sho," Hyacinth lisps around the bobby pins, "I think your hair ish long enough."

With the concealer drying, I can't move my face much. I give him a thumbs up instead. I get to work applying the base layer of the contouring powers. It's nearly self-inflicted beauty base zero. With no wax of course.

It's nice my hair has gotten long enough to style in some different ways. I actually like my hair long but never kept it past shoulder length to avoid it being an easy target to grab while in hand-to-hand combat. Now, that's not as much of a worry. I've already done my fighting. Sure, Midas will probably grab it when we're sparing, but that'll just bring him close enough for a head-butt if he's not smart about it. It's a tradeoff I can live with.

Other than the concealer and the contouring powder, I don't bother with any makeup beyond a bit of silver eyeshadow and shimmery lip gloss that Agrippa has badgered me into wearing regularly. Capitol citizens get ridiculous with makeup. I've seen people with actual gemstones glued to their eyelashes. 

Hyacinth pins my hair into place. The bun is small, nestled at the base of my skull. His hands are close to my neck, uncomfortably so, because there's some lines even he cannot cross. But he is careful and he never actually touches my neck. I appreciate that more than I can easily articulate.

Dressed in finery that will never really suit me, makeup applied to hide the scars that testify to my violent survival, and my hair grown long enough to be a liability in a fight, I'm ready to go back to the Capitol.

Hyacinth wraps his arms around me and rests his chin on the top of my head, careful not to undo his own work.

"I'll wait for you." He intones.

"And I'll return for you." I reply in what has become our version of farewell.

It's an hour to the Reaping now and we both have to get to the square.

I tell Hyacinth to go first. There's cameras around and I don't want any of them to see us together. The Capitol taints enough things. I don't want them to taint my relationship with Hyacinth.

The relationship isn't secret, and I know there's bugs in my house and around the Village, but it isn't tabloid public. I doubt they'd make much of a fuss anyways, with my alleged (and forced) exploits in the Capitol being far more eye catching than my being sweet on a boy back home. That might come later. Hopefully sooner rather than later. There will eventually be a time when there's no more envelopes and I might be actually allowed to have a real relationship. Get married, even.

Hyacinth unwinds his arms from around me. I stand and face him. I cup his cheek and pull him in for a kiss. He smiles against my lips. He pulls away and plants a kiss on my forehead before walking away.

After a slow count to three hundred, I head out in Hyacinth's wake.

Xanthos is at my porch. I don't question his presence. We walk together down the path leading us away from the Village.

He jerks his chin in the direction of the square and asks, "You and the boy, how's that going?"

None of the standard answers that pop into my head (we're in love, we're great, we care about each other, we understand each other) seem to fit us quite right. We simply are. It's not that those things aren't true. I love him and trust him and care for him deeply.

Our relationship, it works for us. Maybe it isn't the love story for the ages (or the healthiest of things at times, with the whole me bottling up all my emotions and his extremely non-confrontational nature making for a couple of nasty blow ups already) but it works and that's all we can do. There's a lot of playing it by ear involved. Because, well, we're only twenty and both have very little experience when it comes to relationships. And I should have died three years ago and am still figuring out how I'm supposed to live an actual life. 

So I tell Xanthos, "We are. You know?"

Xanthos nods. We understand each other. 

I reach the gate first and hold it open for Xanthos. He shakes his cane at me and makes a show of walking through the gate without its aid.

"It's called being polite." I say to him.

"Respecting your elders is one thing, but treating them like a cripple is another. My arms work just fine, thank you very much."

I close the gate behind us and fall back into step by Xanthos. I point out, "You're missing a leg and I'm missing an eye. I think we're even on the cripple front."

From up here, I can see most of the square already. The stage is set up and I can see Mayor Bracken there, Irene chatting his ear off. Her wig is pale purple this year. 

We wind through a couple of streets and reach the edges of the crowd. They part for us, giving friendly waves and greetings. There's a disturbance and Kit launches herself at me. I react quick enough to avoid being toppled. She clutches to me and I can only make out that she's panicked. Dorian follows in Kit's wake and attaches himself to me as well. I look over to Xanthos and he's still walking towards the stage. Traitor.

I get the twins off me enough to have them look at me. "There's two volunteers. You'll be safe. I promise."

Kit's lip trembles. "But, what if something goes wrong. What if they announce there's no more volunteers allowed."

I should give them a break. This is their first Reaping standing in the pens. I smooth Kit's hair and try to get Dorian's back from his face. He thinks it looks cool having long hair but never bothers to tie is back now it's long enough to fall in front of his face.

"Look. We'd already know if they'd done that. Besides, you each have one slip. Only slip in thousands and thousands. You are both perfectly safe. Even if you get Reaped somehow, just hold your head high and know that they'll be volunteers."

And I've done all I've been told. For all the things he is, President Ferrum is not an oath-breaker. He keeps his word. The twins will not be Reaped.

My parents appear. I nudge Kit and Dorian towards them and the two reluctantly go. I smooth my dress back down.

I've been on better terms with the twins than ever before. I invite them over for dinner several times a month and we chat when we see each other around town. Without them around constantly, they have less time to annoy me, particularly in the morning, and we've been able to actually talk about things.

My parents and I don't talk. Living with them did not work out very well. My father still has the scar on his arm from when he made the mistake of waking me up unexpectedly.

I give a curt nod and say, "It will be a good year."

My mother just purses her lips and says nothing. I don't want to speak with her and don't try to, but it still hurts anyway for some reason that she's not trying either. My father gives me a clipped, "Thank you."

I leave and head to the stage. Luke is already in his seat. I take my place beside him as the District's youngest Victor. He arches a brow at me and I explain, already knowing what the silent question is. "Their first Reaping. Just scared."

There's a stirring in the crowd as Seth makes his way to his place among the other eighteen year old boys. I watch as messages of good luck and favorable odds are whispered to him. The same thing happens as Delphinia enters the square and make her way over to the eighteen year old girls.

We have two skilled, eighteen year old volunteers. It is difficult for the odds to be more in our favor than they are now. This will be a good year for District 4.

* * *

**Spring Meadows**  
**District 12**  
**Teaching Assistant**

The sweltering air lays like a blanket over the square. The closely packed bodies do nothing to help. Everyone of Reaping age stands in the pens, hoping they won't be the one chosen to die this year.

I try to discreetly wipe my hands on the sides of my grey dress. It doesn't help. Daisy grabs my hand. Both of us have sweaty palms and it just feels clammy, but since it's her, I don't mind so much.

Our newest District escort, Mortimer Ripauf, takes his place on stage. The Capitol man has bright red hair and is dressed in a suit that I can only describe as loud. It's a riot of different bright yellows and oranges and studded with feathers and lights.

"Ladies first!" Mortimer crows into the microphone.

My heart skips a beat. One more time. Daisy and I are both eighteen and if we survive this Reaping, we won't be in the pens ever again.

Mortimer pulls a paper slip out of the Reaping Ball.

Daisy gives my hand a quick squeeze. I squeeze her hand back.

"Kitta Blueridge!" Announces Mortimer.

That's not me and not Daisy. She's no one I know at all. For a moment, relief washes over me and I squeeze Daisy's hand.

Kitta comes from somewhere behind me in the pens and takes shaky steps up the stage. She's Seam, like me, and most everyone else that gets Reaped from our District. There's a hint of Merchant somewhere in her, her hair is closer to light brown than dark brown or black. Her cheeks are hollow, though, which is distinctly not Merchant.

Mortimer bounces over to the boy's Reaping Ball.

"Now, for the boys."

My heart skips another beat and I squeeze Daisy's hand, hard.

Mortimer plunges his hand into the mass of paper slips. He pulls out a paper slip and reads the name. "Ike Meadows!"

No. It has to be wrong, somehow. No. Not Ike.

It feels like someone punched me in the gut. All over again. The Capitol already took one of my brothers from me. And now they've taken another.

I can feel my legs giving out from under me. Daisy tries to catch my but I wind up pulling her down with me. All I can do is stare and weep as Ike steps out of the fifteen year olds' pen and walks to the stage.

He only has twenty slips. Not like Jet's forty-two, one of which was fatal, or even my thirty-one, which I escaped with. Ike only has twenty slips in the Reaping Ball and one just killed him.

Mortimer asks for volunteers and is met with silence.


	2. Chapter 2

**Ike Meadows**  
**District 12, Male Tribute**

Haymitch Abernathy smells like white liquor. The scent wafts off him and crosses the stage to where I'm sitting. My only hope for survival takes the form of a fifty-six year old alcoholic. Well, I'm dead. I am as good as dead. It hasn't fully sunk in yet, so I'm not sure if I feel like laughing or crying. Maybe both. Yeah, both.

Mayor Undersee reads the Treaty of Treason so I stay silent, not laughing or crying. I do not have to pay attention to know what she is saying. I memorized the Treaty when her father was the one reading it. He retired two years ago and now Madge Undersee is the new Mayor Undersee.

Kitta sits next to me on stage. She's a year below me at school but I've passed her by in the hallways often enough. I tutored her and some of her friends in math last year in exchange for some carding wool, if I remember correctly.

The reading of the Treaty of Treason finishes and Kitta and I are told to shake hand. We stand and she can't meet my eyes. I keep my grip firm and try to look brave. Kitta's hand trembles. Normally, I'd try to give her hand a comforting squeeze, but we're about to die, so there's not much I can do to help.

Mortimer gives us a quiet prompt to turn and face the crowd. On my right, I can see Spring being held up by Daisy.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you this year's tributes from District 12. Kitta Blueridge and Ike Meadows." Mortimer announces.

Peacekeepers step forwards to take us over to the Justice Building.

What would happen if I ran? It's not like they can kill me since the point of this is that I will be sent to die in the arena. That would certainly make things complicated, if a tribute died before the gong sounded. The Peacekeeper to my right grabs the upper part of my arm.

"Don't, Ike." Turquoise's muffled voice comes from within the helmet.

I know Turquoise from around the Hob. Daisy owns a few goats and I help her make and sell cheese sometimes and Turquoise is one of her better customers. Turquoise is weird, being a Peacekeeper from District 1 rather than District 2 like all the other ones, except for the Head Peacekeeper who is always from the Capitol.

No running, then, if Turquoise is already onto me.

I force my muscles to relax and he lets go of my arm.

This is my third time entering the Justice Building. The first was saying good-bye to Jet. The second was to receive his ashes after the cremation. Now I am entering it to be sent off to my death.

The elevator ride is smooth this time. The Capitol bothered to repair the pulley system sometime in the last three years. Maybe because Jet and Mary dying was entertaining enough for them to notice District 12. I wonder what my legacy could be. Maybe another hour of electricity one night or they could fix the leak in the gymnasium roof.

All I have to do is get decapitated by some smirking bitch of a Career.

Turquoise drops me off in a waiting room. Down the hall, Kitta is left in her own room.  
There will be an hour to say good-bye to everyone. I want to spend all of it with my family, but I know there will be friends that will want to see me, too. I hope my family does not blame them from taking away from their time with me.

I ball my hands into fists to stop them shaking. There are tear pricking at the corners of my eyes. The door opens and Spring bursts into the room. She engulfs me in a hug. I hug her back and say the only positive thing I can think of. "You made it through your last one."

This only makes her burst into tears.

Mom wraps me in a hug, too, and so do dad and Mark. I try not to cry and fail. Tears run down my face. Jet cried, too, but he promised us all he'd try to win, or failing that, he'd make sure Mary was the one who made it back.

I can't manage to do the same. I'm not like Jet. He was eighteen and strong and clever. I'm fifteen and scrawny and only book smart. He went poaching with Gale and Rory Hawthorne in the woods and would check the traps for them during the week when they were working in the mines. All I've ever done has been keeping my head down and trying to focus on my schoolwork in the hopes I might become a manager or scientist of some kind, not just a miner.

Spring takes her necklace off. She holds it out to me. Her voice trembles. "Take it. That way you have to win, to give it back to me."

I begin to shake my head but she presses the locket into my palm and repeats, "Take it."

There is no arguing with her on this, I can tell. I slip the thin leather cord over my head and clutch the locket. Inside are some of Jet's ashes. Maybe the other half can hold my ashes when I die.

Spring has some faith in me at least. I try my best to be confident, for her sake, because I hate seeing her cry so much. "I will bring it back. I promise."

The only reason I make it is because it is a promise I can't break. If I die, more like when I die, my token gets taken back home with my body.

We talk about everything and nothing. All I want is more time but there is no more time. The last they'll see of me will be on a screen, dying.

A pair of Peacekeepers come and take them away. I wonder if one of them is Turquoise, but with the helmets on,I can't tell unless he says something.

I'm surprised when Daisy is the one that enters the room next. She sits next to me. I begin wiping the tears off my face. Daisy is practically family. Spring and her have been together for four years. Another wave of crying hits me when I realize I'll never get to see their toasting.

"Ike, listen." Her voice is quiet and intense. "Whatever you have to do, come home. I don't think Spring could survive loosing you, too."

"I can't." It comes out as a mumble.

Daisy grabs me by the shoulders and forces me to look at her. "You can. You will. You have to."

Her dark brown seem to swallow me whole. I choke out, "Why me?"

She lets me go and shrugs. "Does it matter? You coming back here alive is all that matters."

All I can do is meekly nod. Some contender I'll be, scared of someone who isn't even out to kill me.

Daisy wraps me in a tight hug. 

She leaves and my next visitors arrive. Erwin and his older brother Harper enter the room. I give Erwin an awkward hug and shake Harper's hand before he pulls me into a rough hug. They sit next to me on the couch and I try to act like I haven't been crying for the better part of forty minutes.

Erwin, is well, Erwin. "You can ally with the tributes from 11. And maybe from 7 or 10, too. Then together you can take out the careers. They can't fight against overwhelming numbers. And then-"

I cut him off as gently as I can, "I'll try."

He shuts up, realizing the nature of his rambling.

I look over at the brothers. Their great-great aunt was District 12's first Victor, Feather May. Their family doesn't have anything to show for it, now, except for a last name and a dying legacy.

"Can you two look after Mark for me? Make sure he doesn't do anything too stupid. Cause he gets dumb when he's angry."

Harper reaches over and claps me on the shoulder. "Will do. I'll try to keep an eye on Spring too, make sure she's doing all right. And your folks will always be welcome in our home. We'll invite them over to dinner tonight, just to remind them."

It is comforting to know Edwin and Harper will look after my family. We're doing fine, but losing me won't be easy. Spring went blank, for lack of a better word, after Jet died. Mark and I, we got angry. We ranted and raved, our voices obscured by the buzzing of the fence. When the Victory Tour came, and my brother's murderer stood smirking up on stage, Mark actually spit at her. He got whipped for it after, even thought he was just ten, but still claims it was worth it. He also claims the girls love the scars, but I think that's more the fact he's thirteen talking.

The Peacekeepers return and take Erwin and Harper away. A moment later, they return to take me away to the train waiting at the station. As we walk outside, I consider running again. Turquoise's voice does not mutter for me to not do it this time.

We reach the platform and I'm surrounded by cameras as well as the Peacekeepers now. Too late.

I stand next to Kitta and wave at the cameras. I try to look brave even if I'm not, for Spring. Her locket rests against my chest. I can do it for Jet, too, because he tried. I can't let any of them down.

* * *

I roam around the train. Kitta locked herself in her room right away. I get restless when I get nervous. Pacing helps.

The car I step into must be the bar car, since Haymitch is sitting at the counter nursing a bottle of some kind of liquor. I want to say something to him. Part of it is because he was one of the last people to ever talk to Jet outside the arena. I also want to ask him for advice. I may as well try to survive as long as I can. I promised to try and I don't want to die even though I know I probably will.

If anyone can get me out of the arena alive, it is Haymitch. He did mentor Katniss and Peeta and they both survived. They just died the next year, but there won't be another Quarter Quell like the 75th ever again.

"Speak, boy." Haymitch's voice startles me and I jump. He guffaws. "You're not like your brother. But he's dead and you aren't yet."

Haymitch pisses me off.

"Well, I want to remain not dead. Any advice?" My voice comes out sharp and I instinctively wince because this outburst is not covered up by the hum of the electric fence.

Haymitch pats the stool beside him. "Well, sit down and listen closely."

If he took notice of the outburst, he's not going to say anything about it.

I do as he says. He looks me up and down. His eyes are not glassy like I expected them to be. He still smells strongly of liquor but he's not completely out of it.

"Stay away from the Cornucopia. And stay far away from any Careers, particularly the two from 4. You have a target on your back."

"She's mentoring, then?" I ask, unable to say her name.

Haymitch shrugs and downs a quarter of the bottle. "She did last year."

His breath smells even worse now.

His eyes remain clear despite the shear amount of alcohol in his system. I expected them to appear glassy, like Jack's eyes, now he's taken to drinking. I guess it would take a lot more to make Haymitch actually drunk since he's been drinking for so long.

"Can you hunt?" Haymitch asks.

"No."

"Can you set traps?"

"No."

"Can you fight?" His voice becomes increasingly incredulous.

I know he's comparing me to Jet.

"I've been in fights. But I normally lose."

Haymitch sighs and asks, "Are you good at anything?"

"I got an A on my math test last week."

Haymitch guffaws again, like this is the funniest thing he has ever heard.

"You're clever. I can work with you." Haymitch stops laughing and just watches me for a few seconds. "Memorize edible plants, that's how you can make yourself useful. Try to learn something about traps, too. Then get in an alliance. For now, eat, you'll need the reserves."

He's bothering to help me, which must be a big deal after forty years of dead tributes. 

"Thank you. I'll go do that."

I head back down the train in the direction I thought I had smelled fresh bread in. I find the dining car. On a table, there is a basket of rolls and a plate of fruit. They just sit there out in the open. No one is paying attention to them. I take a seat and take one of the rolls.

No one says anything. No one is around to say anything. Is no one else eating? There's so much food here.

The bread is still warm and it's so soft. This is nothing like the drop biscuits we make out of Tesserae grain. I bite into it. It is fluffy and sweet somehow. I thought only berries could be sweet like this is. And this is bread, not cake or anything fancy like that.

The food just sitting out in the open here could feed my family for days. It could feed my family, Daisy's family, and the Mays for days.

I have the urge, driven by the years before Jet started checking the traps and Spring started being a teaching assistant, to take all the food and hide it someplace safe for later. I want to take all the fruit and turn it into jams and jelly and preserves, filling every glass jar in the house. I remember starving before, hunger digging into my guts.

All this food makes me feel sick. Because it is just sitting here, not being eaten by anyone but me.

* * *

**Lynn Rayna**  
**District 4**  
**Victor of the 87th Hunger Games, Mentor of Delphinia Tyde**

Irene lowers the screen and we settle in to watch the Reaping recaps. I look over at Delphinia. "Give me your assessment on them."

District 1. 

"The girl will be a ranged fighter. Back muscles are well defined. Bow is a possibility"

Agreed. Bow is risky since there's still a stigma against them ever since Katniss Everdeen. She'll have to play a very different Game. No romance, no mercy, no close allies. They tried with bow in the 88th. Poor performance. She might be throwing axe then.

I recognize the boy's name. He is Marcel Raptor, Midas' little brother. He ascends the steps and the family resemblance is clear. He is no great beauty like Midas, but Marcel still outshines his District Partner. Behind him, seated next to the other Victors of District 1, I can see Midas with his face completely blank.

I didn't think Midas would have let Marcel volunteer. It's trouble, regardless of any foreknowledge Midas had. Delphinia recognizes Marcel as a threat. "Boy is melee. Sabre if he's like his brother."

District 2.

"I'm pretty sure her hairpin is a knife."

Not quite an assessment but a telling observation. A correct one as well. She'll be one of Boninite's knife nuts. Turns out Cassius was. She goes for clever and fast. And annoying.

"Bare hands. Or a mace."

The boy is certainly one of Basalt's hulking brutes. The boy will likely be humble and earnest to offset the physical brutality.

District 3 is average. Mid-teens, not muscular, frightened.

We put on a good showing. Delphinia and Seth both look strong. Delphinia's hair was a bit out of place, but hopefully it can be interpreted as wild, rather than messy. I don't need her to be perceived as sloppy, even though she can be at times. There is no place for carelessness in the arena and sponsors know this.

Afterward there is an expected procession of average, soon to be dead tributes. No twelve year olds so far. Delphinia continues to give her assessments.

The girl from 7 looks angry and indignant. She'll try for the bloodbath.

The boy from 10 looks confident, so he thinks he knows a trick or two. Might work at a slaughterhouse then, knows his way around a knife.

The commentators start chattering a bit more as District 12 approaches. The fact they go silent after the girl is reaped worries me. They boy's name is called out.

"Ike Meadows."

There's a girl who collapses in the eighteen section and bursts into sobs. The girl next to her is dragged to the ground as well and struggles to get them both back on their feet.

I lean back in my seat and let out a low whistle. The commentators have also made the connection between Ike, and his brother Jet from my games.

Delphinia asks, "Anything I should do about him?"

"Set him up as a rival." I instruct, then add, "Make sure he dies in the bloodbath. Don't want anyone thinking he's an actual final eight contender."

It will get the attention focused on her. Can spin it well for sponsors.

The Reaping recaps end on a strange note. This puts things out of balance. The romantics and the underdog betters have an immediate focus right from the get go. Normally that only starts with the interviews. Haymitch will know how to work this. I almost hope he will be too busy drowning in a bottle to do it. But he won't be, not with a chance like this.

"Time for bed now." Neith orders. "It'll be a long night tomorrow, get the sleep while you can."

Delphinia and Seth go off to their rooms without argument.

Neith plops down on the couch next to me. "Are you going to be alright?"

I do not really know Neith all that well. She spends most of her time with her family up in North Point. Neith and Emily hate each other as well, so my opinion of her is automatically a bit low. There's no one else around to talk to, so I shrug and reply, "Depends on how it goes. A quick death will be the best outcome."

There is no mercy in the arena. A quick death is the only thing that comes close. My offer of almost mercy echoes in my mind. ("I can make it quick." And I did. That has to count for something, right? I didn't leave her to die alone and I made it quick.)

"You want to give Luke a call?" The concern in Neith's voice makes me think I might have blanked out for a bit there.

"No." I stand up. "No reason to bother him. I'll be fine. Just need some sleep. Dealing with sponsors will be distraction enough tomorrow."

I head off to my own room before Neith can say anything else. The cabinet in the bathroom comes stocked with several different varieties of sleeping pills. I take a couple of the milder ones, because I still need to function in the morning, and hate taking caffeine pills to wake myself back up. Midas eats those things like candy.

Dry swallowing the pills, I change into a nightgown and collapse onto my bed. All that's left to do is try not to think as the pills kick in.


	3. Chapter 3

**Lynn Rayna**   
**District 4**   
**Victor of the 87th Hunger Games, Mentor of Delphinia Tyde**

Is it physically possible to feed someone their own entrails without them dying too quickly?

The biggest problem would be the blood loss. And the shock. But I'm rather familiar with the meds you can get for blood loss. Boosts clotting and promotes the bone marrow to make more red blood cells. Because if I can figure out a way to do feed someone their own entrails, that will be the fate of every single sponsor I have to deal with tonight. 

Especially Oren Sonata. I swear, if he touches my ass one more time, I'm breaking his wrist. But I can't actually break his wrist or everyone I love will die horribly. I can imagine it though. The twist and strain, him struggling to escape, before there's a pop and crack and he screams.

The Remake Center lounge is where some of the best initial sponsorship deals are made, so I have to put up with it. These are the sponsors that don't even really care about the individuals tributes. These are the ones who sponsor by District and my victory drew a lot of the District 4 sponsors back to the lounge.

Galerius Tremont, owner of the Beach Resort Hotel, is one of the major District 4 sponsors. He won't just throw his money around, so it can still be a challenge to get him to give more than just his standard 100 solidi.

"Nothing is ever guaranteed in the arena, I know that well, but," I lean in closer to him and drop my voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "I was told there was going to be some rather nice lakeside views popping up on everyone's screens this year."

That gets his attention. Whenever there's a lot of water, even if it's not safe to swim in, District 4 does better. Of course we do.

The lounge is one of the few places that is left without bugs. The sponsors here give more than most, and all of that money goes to the government, so they've bought themselves the privilege of not being spied on. There's always Avoxes around through, and I'm reasonably certain some of them are spying on the proceedings, but nothing is recorded.

Hints about arena design are some of the worst kept secrets in the Capitol, as it turns out. But details can easily be lost as the messages are passed around and sometimes the hints wind up being for an arena in development that won't get used for another couple of years.

But I trust the information I got from a couple of the Gamemaker interns last year. All of them are so eager to climb the ranks and paling around with Victors is often a good way for them to get other connections. There was one, Christine Tiber, who spoke with me in the Jabber Jay last year, and was delighted that we had a mutual acquaintance in Cassie. Knowing there's a lake (and a forest and the outfit will include hiking boots and that the weather Gamemakers are particularly exited) does not really help much at all. That lake could be on fire for all I know so it doesn't inform anything in the way of strategy.

But it's gotten Galerius' interest, which matters a lot more.

"Nothing beats an oceanside view," I can hear the consideration in his voice as he speaks in his slow and careful manner, "but lakeside views can be quite lovely by their own merit."

If I push too hard, I come off as desperate, and career mentors are never desperate. Well, not openly so.

"Agreed, and if you're into sport fishing, both have their fair share of good catches." I make sure to say it with a smile.

I've never understood some Capitol citizens' desire to go and fish for fun. They call it sport fishing and pay good money to be taken out to the best locations. The smartest guides will have already caught some big prize fish, marlins mainly, and will have a diver lying in wait to hook the fish to the Capitol citizen's line after a nominal wait. Galerius likes sports fishing because that's one of the main things that draws Capitol citizens to his hotel.

Galerius nods. "Put me down for five hundred this year. With you mentoring, I have no doubt things will get quite interesting."

I enter the new total on the District 4 sponsorship section and pass my tablet to Galerius for verification.

Now to live up to my reputation. With Delphinia as my tribute, she will carry my reputation for me. She is more reckless than I am but I at least think I've taught her well. She can palm a knife and slip in between the ribs of a once-friend just as well as I can. Perhaps better, given the fact she's been on the receiving end of my own deceptions.

The overhead speakers crackle to life.

"Good evening, mentors," a lilting masculine voice says, "the parade will start in fifteen minutes. Please go to your designated seats."

Galerius passes the tablet back to me. I pass it off to an Avox who will take it up to my room. 

I give Galerius a gracious nod. "You won't be disappointed."

Leaving the lounge, I fall into step next to Basalt. He shortens his strides for me.

"Is the girl yours again?" He asks, adding, "You seem to go for wild."

"Yeah. The boy's yours? He's nearly as tall as you are."

"Yes. We're both predictable. Have you seen Midas?"

I still have to jog a couple of steps to keep pace with Basalt. He's about a foot and a half taller than me and I'm stuck in high heels which slow me down.

Basalt laughs. "Having trouble keeping up? Do I need to carry you?"

I resist the urge to sock him in the arm. There's people and cameras around so I have to behave. Basalt knows that. Ass.

"No." I answer his earlier question as well. "And no, I haven't seen Midas. I doubt we'll be seeing much of him this year."

With his brother heading into the arena, Midas will be running himself ragged. The one thing I cannot tell is if that was the plan or not. At the Reaping, Midas did not openly react to Marcel volunteering, positively or negatively. But Midas very carefully controls his expressions and body language, so I can never tell what's actually going on inside his head.

Basalt and I pass through the door that takes us out of the Remake Center. The path is lined with guards forming a wall between us and a swarm of journalists and photographers. I smile and wave. Beside me, Basalt straightens, looking all the more impressive. He gives the journalists curt nods.

We reach the mentors' seating area across from the President's Mansion and split up to take our seats. Fortunately there are three rows we're arranged in so I am not seated nearby Michael. I still hold Dove's death against myself. I do not need anyone else to help in that regard.

Neith settles into her seat next to me. She gives me a warm smile. I make a try at returning a pleasant one. Despite any misgivings I have about her, she's from home.

"You seems get along well with Basalt Igneo. That's quite a feat." She comments.

I shrug, feeling defensive around her, hackles already raised. "We're friendly. It's to the pack's benefit. The split is more likely to go against One this way."

"I thought you were friends with Midas?"

"Midas isn't friends with anyone this year."

As if on cue, Midas appears. I cannot see the dark circles under his eyes, but I can see the makeup that hides them. He rarely wears much makeup (it must be easy to get him to beauty base zero) so when he has heavier concealer on, I notice it.

He walks to his seat, looking at no one, his face a blank mask.

If either of the twins ever express even the slightest interest in volunteering, I will pay someone to gag them during the Reaping so they can't volunteer. Doing so is illegal. But so is training tributes.

The parade begins.

District 1's stylists went for hues of red, pink, and rose gold this year. Nothing particularly stand out. Marcel's hair lacks the red tone that Midas' has, so the rubies wash it out further.

District 2's stylists did not go with armor this year. That's actually interesting. Instead they went with something inspired by mosaic work, thousands of little stone and glass chips patterned into swirling designs. The Capitol audience oohs and aahs over the unexpected design. Advantage to District 2.

District 3 has light bulbs and copper wire. And back to the predictable.

Agrippa and Claudia went with coral for their inspiration this year. The fan coral collar around Delphinia's neck makes her seem taller and more imposing. But the Capitol audience still buzzes about District 2's mosaics. Their advantage holds. Unfortunate, but the parade typically only has a five percent impact on opening sponsorship totals. And that percentage is skewed by outlying data, like the 74th parade and 75th parade numbers.

District 5 has glittering blue solar cells powering sprays of fiber optics. The dimmer the light grows, the better the outfits begin to look.

District 6 is still stuck with a train conductor getups, but the girl actually looks half decent. Especially when she is compared to her partner, whose skin is jaundiced from withdrawals.

District 7 went lumberjack flannels instead of an actual tree this year.

District 8's tributes look like yarn ball mummies. The only reaction they get is laughter. A couple new stylist spots will be opening up for next year.

District 9 has gold for golden grains but can never pull off metallics like District 1 can.

District 10 went with poultry, sprays of feathers that wind up having the unfortunate effect of looking a bit too much like a chicken suit. Make that four stylist spots open for next year.

District 11 went citrus themed, a welcome riot of unexpected bright yellows, oranges, and greens. The Capitol audience lets out a pleased murmur of approval. Advantage still with 2, but 11 now has an edge as well.

District 12 half blends into the growing evening gloom. The tributes are dressed in grey, shot through with black veins, like coal embedded in rock, I assume. The black veins shimmer, the effect only increasing as the lamps flicker to life along the street. But in comparison to the showing from Districts 2, 5, and 11, the outfits are still largely dull.

The chariots enter the circle. Most tributes look to the balcony where President Ferrum appears. Others look at the screens or look to the crowd. One of the ones looking to the crowd is Ike. Haymitch would have no doubt told him that I'm mentoring this year. He does not seem to spot me, looking up in the crowd not at the more street level seats we occupy, and when Ferrum begins to speak, he turns his attention to the balcony.

As the President speaks, the Escorts arrive to get us over to the Tribute Center before the crowds disperse. Some Capitol citizens always like to try to get pictures with all the tributes so they can later show off pictures of themselves with the Victor when they were still a tribute. I'm reasonably certain that the potential admonishment from the Escorts is more effective at warding away the crowd than the armed Peacekeepers were. We head off the crowds and are ready when the chariots enter and the tributes dismount.

I get Delphinia and Seth while Neith holds an elevator. We're joined by the group from District 10. Walton gives us a polite nod. Buck is next to the boy, Antonio I think, and both try to stand tall and proud and it's rather amusing, really. He might be an underdog contender, not just fodder. Delphinia stares down the girl, who is obviously trying not to shrink back.

We reach our floor and I tap Delphinia on the elbow to signal her to stop terrorizing the fodder. There will plenty more time for that during training. We file out and I usher Delphinia and Seth off to get showered and changed before dinner.

"That was an absolute rip-off of Venus' design from the 37th parade. I have half a mind to go up there and tell her off myself." Claudia exclaims, her voice carrying over from the seating area.

Ah, stylist drama. I'm not getting involved.

I skirt around the seating area and head off to my rooms. The makeup is not too heavy today but I want to get changed into something more comfortable. Even if it's just a bit longer. I hate wearing dressing that don't go at least to my knees and this one barely makes mid-thigh. A small price to pay for sponsors.

The wardrobe still has my preferences selected from last year. I pick out this year's version of a plain cream top and long brown pants. The top has lace edging and is more sheer than anticipated. I thought layering had gone out of style but it just lulled. I get a green undershirt.

Slipping out of the dress and leggings, I change into my new outfit and order a cup of coffee from the room service menu. A black envelope arrives with it and I have to fight the urge to hurtle the cup of coffee across the room.


	4. Chapter 4

**Training**

**Ike Meadows**  
**District 12, Male Tribute**

"You're either fifteen minutes early, or you're late." Mortimer had announced before ushering me and Kitta to get ready quickly and go down to the training room.

Now, I am stuck having the most terrifying staring contest ever with Delphinia Tyde. I am reasonably certain that she would love to just kill me now rather than waiting to get into the arena. Currently, Kitta and I are the only non-Career tributes here. Delphinia is the only one paying us much heed, the others are chatting amongst themselves, like we don't really matter.

"So, Twelve, what does it feel like, being fodder?" Delphinia asks. "I heard your brother cried the whole time he was here."

I know I shouldn't react to her. That's what she wants. But there is only one person that could be spreading that rumor, so I take the bait. "And he made it to the final eight. I'm not even crying, so imagine how well I'll do."

The girl from District 2 bursts out laughing. "He got you there, Four."

The other Careers are paying attention, then.

Delphinia breaks eye contract with me in order to glare at her ally. Or maybe former ally. There's tensions before the Games have even begun. Being the center of attention right now should be the last thing I want, but if the Careers fight about me, then that will only be in my favor.

The elevator behind us dings. I look over to see the pairs from District 5 and District 9 arrive. The four of them all disperse, pointedly making no eye contact with anyone.  
Kitta wanders off as well. She had stuck near me when it was just us and the Careers, but it is obvious she does not want an alliance with me.

The remainder of the tributes arrive quickly in their pairs as the trainers start showing up as well. The only pairs that stick together are the Careers, the tributes from District 8, and the tributes from District 11.

The trainers pin squares of fabric with our District numbers on them to the backs of out shirts and jackets. The head trainer, a lean, hawkish man, introduces himself as Tullus and instructs us to gather around.

Once everyone is in a loose circle, Tullus starts to explain how the training will work.

"There will be experts in both survival and combat techniques at stations around the training area. You are free to move among the stations, as per your mentor's advisement. There is to be no combat exercises between tributes." He gives a pointed look to the six Career tributes. "There will be trainers on hand if you wish to practice techniques with a partner, which is recommended."

He then starts to read a list of all of the stations available to us. Haymitch told me to focus on survival skills to make myself useful to a potential alliance. Camouflage and fire making will be important. So will the plant identification and trap making.

I'll start with fire making. That's important in any arena. There is always something flammable. There was an arena, before I was born, that was frozen over but with no wood to burn, and five of the tributes froze to death the first night. So there is always something to burn now.

Tullus finishes the list and sends us off. The Careers all race towards something Tullus had referred to as the gauntlet. It is a track that takes up the length of one of the longer walls, lined with trainers armed with foam bats, and criss crossed with uneven ramps and low walls the tribute running the course have to get over without being knocked over by the trainers. I'm not going to get near it.

I continue my planned path over to the fire making station. I start with the easy things. The trainer at the station shows me how to pile kindling right, sheltering it from wind or damp. Lighting it with a match or even flint and iron is relatively easy. But matches and flint boxes are things you get from the Cornucopia and I won't be getting anything from there. What I need to master is how to light the kindling with a drill, either by hand or with a bow. Bows require twine, but I could even twist together grass fibers to make something that would due.

A couple other tributes show up at the station. While the trainer is helping the boy, the one from District 3 I think, the girl looks over at me.

"Hey, you seem good at this. Could you show me how?"

It takes me a moment to realize she's talking to me. I do need allies.

"Sure." I offer.

She leans in a bit closer than what should be necessary and watches intently as I try to light the kindling with a bow drill. My hands are getting sore, but if I want allies, I need to prove I'm useful. I try to explain the steps as I saw the bow back and forth. There is a thin trail of smoke that begins to rise and I see the glow of embers. I blow on them to encourage them to spread around the wood fiber kindling and carefully transfer them over to my bigger pile of wood shavings. The shavings catch and I have a small fire.

"Wow." The girl gasps like I've just done a magic trick. "You really are good at that. I'm Sally-Bell Metro, by the way, but you can just call me Sally. District 6."

The hyphenated name is a dead giveaway she's from District 6. They have the second largest population of all the Districts, and to get around the Capitol laws about no one of Reaping age sharing the same name, they just started sticking two names together whenever necessary.

Sally offers me a hand. I shake it and introduce myself, "Ike Meadows. District 12."  
I guide Sally through the process of using a hand drill to start a fire. It takes her nearly fifteen minutes, but she eventually get a fire going. We both decide to head off to the trap making station next.

I understand the physics behind the traps, the forces at play. Actually working with the twine and rope, tying knots and making loops, does not click with me. I focus on the tension traps, typically a stick holding up something heavy like a rock that will drop it when broken or moved by an animal. It doesn't really scale up for offense against tributes like the snare traps can, but I can get food with these.

Sally figures out the snares easily, the trainer happily showing her the larger snare that can trap a tribute's foot and leave them dangling from a tree branch. Between the two of us we have most of the traps figured out.

Sally smiles at me and says, "Let's be allies."

"Let's." I reply without hesitation.

We shake on it and go back to working with the traps until lunch.

The lunch bell rings. There are carts around the edge of the lunch room. I pile my plate high with fresh fruit and slices of cold meats and little cheese sandwiches.

The Career pack has pushed two tables together at the back of the room. They're loudly joking and taking bets on what scores everyone will get in training and who will die first in the bloodbath.

There is another group of tributes sitting together. It's the pair from District 8 and the boy from District 7. The girl spots Sally and me next to each other and waves us over. We head over to the table.

They introduce themselves. The pair from District 8 are Hannah and Red, and the boy from District 7 is Burl. They invite us into their alliance.

I hesitate a moment, not sure why they'd want us in the alliance. They could have been watching us at the survival stations. I look to Sally, deferring to her. She nods and the two of sit down with our new allies. There are five of us. The Career pack only out numbers us by one.

There are looks thrown our way throughout lunch. Lone tributes either look at us with nervousness or curiosity. The Career pack is somewhere between hostile and amused.  
Delphinia tries to stare me down again. I just ignore her this time.

Burl notices the hostilities and comments, "I think Four has it out for you."

"Think her mentor has it out for me." I reply.

Burl looks confused for a moment, then I can see the realization cross his face. "Right... Uh, sorry."

When lunch is over, I go with Hannah and Red over to the camouflage station while Sally and Burl go to the knot tying station.

Learning how to make pigments from crushed berries and insects is interesting, but I'm not sure how versatile it will be in the arena. Now I have a large alliance at my back, the plan isn't really to hide anymore. We'll stay on the move for the most part. The Career Pack still outnumbers us, and they're all trained killers, so an outright confrontation will always go their way. But cowering isn't even possible with a large group like ours.

I head off to the plant identification station. Right away, I can recognize some of the medicinal herbs and really common edible ones, like dandelion. The same goes for the common poisonous plants as well.

Everything else blurs together initially. I have four more hours of training for the first day and this is where I'll spend them.

I start numbering off all the plants. The edible ones get green and blue numbers, 7s and 11s. The poisonous ones get red and orange numbers, 2s, 4s, and 10s. Slotting them into categories that way gives me an additional thing to recognize about them, counting the number of spines on a leaf edge or petals on a flower.

By the end of the third hour, I can recognize all the plants and move onto the insects. I'd rather not have to eat insects unless I really am starving, and when I'm starving would be when I could make mistakes and eat something poisonous so I have to know them well. Knowing the venomous ones can be useful for poisoning weapons, which is a far more appealing strategy.

* * *

Going down to training the second day, I know I have to spend some time on fighting techniques. The Careers lurk around the weapons stations most of the time and jeer at anyone else who gets nearby. I need to brave it anyways. I'll just stay near the trainers to be on the safe side. Just because there aren't supposed to be fights between tributes before the arena, what really is stopping one of the Careers from trying to injure someone anyways? There's nothing the Capitol can do to us since all but one of us are going to die anyways.

I start with hand-to-hand combat. The best defense I have is running away. But if it comes down to a physical fight, I want to know how to escape a hold or even throw a decent punch of my own without hurting myself.

The trainer is patient with me. He shows me how to stand and how to use my opponent's weight against them, because we both know I'll be fighting people larger than myself. The Careers circle, but do not actually say anything to me. They just watch and smirk and whisper things to each other before bursting out laughing.

Everything aches with exertion but I force myself to push past it because the arena will be worse and I might as well practice now. After a two hours, the trainer is satisfied I know the basics.

I switch to knives after that because if I get my hands on any weapon, it will likely be a knife. I grab a bracer of throwing knifes and have the trainer at that station show me how to throw them. Throwing knives are the weapon of choice of the female tribute from District 2.

I get to the point where I can consistently hit the target in the torso, and sometimes even hit it in the neck, by the time we break for lunch.

Sally sits next to me again. She keeps doing this weird thing where she gets way closer than necessary. She did it to Burl too, but stopped for some reason.

The Careers take over the back again. There's an additional person sitting with them today. It's Marmot, Burl's District partner. They lock eyes from across the room. Burl looks away first and mutters, "That's why she didn't want to be allies."

It's worrying, her being part of the Career Pack. She gets the advantage of staying around the Cornucopia and using those supplies. They the Pack will throw her to the mutts without hesitation and will kill her first things in the melee. I have no idea why she agreed to join. 

The Pack now outnumbers us seven to five instead of six to five. But the numbers don't change our strategy of avoiding them. They may have only let Marmot join so they can have her guard the Cornucopia while the actual Careers go hunting.

We discuss who should be the leader of the alliance. No one steps forward. It's a huge responsibility. Hannah makes a suggestion, "How about whoever gets the highest training score is leader? If there's a tie, we'll figure it out after the bloodbath."

That means that Burl will likely be the leader. I'm okay with that.

"Works for me." I say.

Red, Burl, and Sally all agree as well.

When lunch is over, my arms ache too much to go back to weapons training, and I don't want to draw too much of the Pack's attention.

I go back to plant identification. My goal right now is being able to do it in record time. For this year, I have the top three scores. But there's an elusive overall top score, made back in 78, under the designation D7F. That means it's the score of that year's Victor, Moth Brzezicki. If I can beat a Victor's score, that should give a good impression to the Gamemakers.

I get closer and closer and closer, but she is always fifteen or twenty or thirteen seconds ahead of me. I don't know how she was physically able to do it that quickly. My reflexes need to get better. A fair test of that skill as well.

* * *

On the third day, there's not that much time for actual training. After lunch, it's the individual evaluations so that leaves only the three morning hours to go to the stations. Burl and I decide to work together at the shelter making station. 

Cord, the female tribute from District 3, walks up to Burl and I as we're trying to erect a large shelter. Burl holds up the supports while I lash them together. He's better at knots than I am, just about everyone is, but is also stronger, so he's still better off holding things up.

Cord watches, looking back and forth between the two of us, before saying, "I want to join your alliance."

We're stuck under the half made shelter and so we are forced to speak with her. Neither of us say anything.

Cord is the youngest tribute this year, having turned thirteen just two weeks before Reaping Day, and is also physically the smallest one of us. While she would get us sympathy points, I'm just worried she would be more of a liability than an asset.

The lack of reply apparently pisses Cord off by the dark look that crosses her face. "Can any of you build a taser out of a flashlight? Or use a battery as a firestarter? I'm not useless."

I finish lashing the main support so Burl can let them go.

"You're right, none of us can do that. But everyone needs to agree," I start, not wanting to speak for everyone, "though I'd be fine with you joining the alliance."

"Same here." Burl agrees.

Cord leaves us to find our other allies to secure her position. I find myself surprisingly neutral about her joining or not. Only one person lives and I want it to be me. Callous as it is, what happens to her does not overly concern me. If I don't live, I'd rather the Victor be Kitta in that case, and she's not even in the alliance. She hasn't even spoken to me since we got on the train.

When Cord is definitely out of earshot, I turn to Burl. "Why did you let her join?"

"I can outrun her." Burl says with a shrug, "You?"

"Was impressed by the taser line. But what you said makes even more sense."


	5. Chapter 5

**Ike Meadows**  
**District 12, Male Tribute**

I will be second to last to show my skills. All I can hope is that the Gamemakers will actually be awake when I'm in there. They might just be passed out from all the food and drink by now, since all the Careers have had their evaluations.

Marmot is called over. No one looks at her. There's a paradoxical sort of thing about the Career Pack. Everyone wants to join it because it means supplies and safety and sponsors. But no one wants to join it because of the potential for the Careers turning on you and everyone else will kill you for joining up with the Careers. And who willingly wants to be around Careers anyways? They choose to be murderers.

Fifteen minutes later, Red is called over.

Another fifteen minutes and Hannah is called.

I'm the last one left waiting out of the alliance. There's no one left to even make nervous eye contact with. Next to me, Kitta just ignores my presence. I keep trying to talk to be, but she never responds. Maybe she thinks if she winds up in an alliance with me, it will get her killed. My brother's allies all got killed. He had tried to protect Mary. I've made no such promises about protecting Kitta.

Ninety minutes of staring at the wall and mentally going over the plant matching station pass before it is finally my turn to go up.

The gymnasium seems huge without all the other tributes and trainers around.

The Gamemakers chat amongst themselves, eating and drinking. Only Priscilla Wolfshiem pays me any heed, waving her hand in my direction and telling me I have ten minutes to display any chosen skills. There must be a five minute cleanup and reset time between the tributes' sessions then.

I start with the plant matching. It's the least entertaining of the skills I want to show and I want to start with it, rather than end on a boring note. My previous top scores have been wiped, leaving only Moth's illusive top score and the scores from the other tributes who tried today.

I can do this.

I hit the start button and move as quickly as I can while still maintaining my accuracy.

Poisonous. Poisonous. Edible. Poisonous. Edible. Edible.

I keep matching and sorting until the screen is blank. 

A perfect score. The time flashes on the screen. And I'm two seconds short of Moth's time.  
I do not have time to waste trying again. I turn and glance up at the Gamemakers. Most are ignoring me but Priscilla is paying attention. She gives me a brief nod and I move on to the next skill I want to display.

The ranged targets are set up a bit differently and one of the mannequins is missing. It must have been damaged too badly and they didn't bother replacing it. I grab a bracer of throwing knives and take aim.

The first knife strikes the furthest dummy in the chest. The next one sinks into its abdomen. I turn my attention to the next closest one and manage to send the knife into its head, striking the cheek. My last three knives all get aimed at the dummy closest to me. The first one strikes the chest, the next skims across the head, and the last one hits just below the throat.

For my last skill, I ask for a sparring partner. One of the trainers waiting in the back wings steps forward. It's the same hand-to-hand combat trainer that helped me the second day.  
He runs me through one of the more advanced drills he had down me before. I do well, I think. I remember where to put my feet and manage to blocks all of his blows. At the end, I break from the pattern of the drill and sweep his leg from under him, knocking him over onto the padded floor.

"Your time is up." Priscilla Wolfshiem calls from the Gamemaker's booth. "You may leave."

The trainer gets back up and flashes me a quick smile.

I cross the gymnasium over to the exit elevator and get in. The elevator whisks me up to the main floor. There are only a few guards around but I still contain my excitement until the next elevator takes me up to District 12's floor.

I pump my fist and call out, "Haymitch, I think I did really well."

I go into the sitting room where Mia and Kitta's stylist, Regina, are talking. Mia turns to me, "Haymitch is out right now. He's at a sponsorship meeting."

"Oh. That's good." I reply, surprised, but happy surprised for once. "I'm going to be in my suite. See you at dinner."

I head into my room and flop down on my bed to wait for dinner. After around twenty minutes, I hear the door across the hall slamming shut. Kitta's back. And in a bad mood. But that's really normal with Kitta.

I wind up falling asleep and Mortimer gets me up for dinner.

Haymitch is back but I don't talk about my private training because I don't want Kitta to hear what I can do. She's made it clear she wants nothing to do with me and so that does kind of make her my enemy.

After dinner, we all go to the sitting room to watch the training score announcement. Each score is presented with the tribute's picture, name, and District number.

Marcel Raptor gets a 11, which makes sense since he's a Career and his brother is a Victor. His District partner, Lustora, gets an 8.

Both the tributes from District 2, Wolfe and Pluta, get 9s.

Cord gets a 5, but her District partner, Argon, gets a 4 so she at least did better than him.

Seth gets a 9. And Delphinia gets a 10. Of course she does. At least she doesn't have the highest score.

There's nothing above a 6, with the girl from District 5, Ruthia, only getting a 3.

Burl gets a 7. That's really good. He'll probably be leader, then. Marmot gets a 5. Serves her right for joining the Career Pack. 

Red gets a 6 and Hannah gets a 4. She doesn't have the lowest score at least.

Again there's mainly 5s and 6s. But the boy from District 10, Antonio, gets an 8.

My picture appears. I got an 8. Wow. I guess more of the Gamemakers were paying attention than I thought. Awesome! Wait, that means I'm the leader of the alliance now. And that I just got a huge target painted on my back. The Careers were already going to be after me. Now, I have a score that's in the normal Career range. Without years of training to back it up.

Kitta gets a 5. She just leaves without a word.

Haymitch turns to me. "Good job, kid."

* * *

Preparation for the interviews was less painful than I thought it would be. The prep team did not use as much wax this time. That might be due to the fact not all my body hair has grown back yet. I never thought I'd miss my arm hair, but when it's waxed off, I do.

Mia arrives in the afternoon with a suit for me. The male tributes are inevitably in suits for the interviews. Sometimes the jacket is not included, particularly when the tribute is muscular and his stylist wants to show off his physique. I am not muscular. I get a jacket.

The slacks and shirt and jacket are all tailored to fit me perfectly. All of my Reaping clothes have been some variation of too large around my waist or have too short sleeves or something else just a bit off. Having clothes that fit me is nice. I'd just rather it not accompany my inevitable death.

Mia fusses over everything. She keeps touching up my makeup, even though it's just a bunch of powder to hide my acne. All the fatty food I've been eating since arriving in the Capitol has given me a breakout. The nerves aren't helping either. I get stress breakouts before tests.

My hair is also unruly, according her muttering and constant combing. I always thought my hair looked kind of nice. It's more curly than straight, and when I have it short like I do not, it's fluffy. Amy Sharp even told me it looked cute one day after school.

Mia apparently doesn't think my hair is cute.

When Mia is done with all of her fussing, I get to wait in the living room while Kitta's makeover continues.

I go over things to say during the interview while I wait. Yesterday, the only advice Haymitch gave me was to be clever. 

I can always talk about the food and the nice cloths. The Capitol citizens like flattery. Gushing about how amazing everything around here is goes over well every year.

Kitta steps out of her suite. She looks really pretty. She's in a long black dress that is covered with different kinds of sparkles that all catch the light in a rainbow and her hair is piled on top of her head in an elaborate twist held together by long black pins that have little crystals dangling off them.

With both of us ready, Mortimer takes us down to the backstage of the interview area. We're the seventh pair to arrive. Pairs keep trickling in, the boys all the suits and the girls all in dresses.

Stagehands line us up in seats behind a huge curtain. From the other side, I can hear the audience. There's cameras everywhere, too. I'm going to be talking in front of everyone. Literally, everyone in Panem will be watching me. No pressure, right?

Twenty-three tributes are lined up ahead of me. The interviews drag on. All I can do is wait for the inevitable. 

I clutch at the hem of the jacket. The velvet is pretty. When I brush it one way, it is grey, and if I brush it in the opposite direction, it looks black. The undershirt is just plain black. Mia said something about it representing a vein of coal in the rock. Coal dust just tends to cover everything so the whole mine looks black despite whatever color the rock actually is.  
The whole suit is heavy, heating up under the stage lights above us. My palms are sweating from the heat and nerves.

I focus on not fidgeting.

As the interviews continue, they start to drag. The audience's attention starts to shift from the stage to little glowing screens in their hands. Tablets, I think. The mine heads and overseers have those instead of clipboards because you can see them in the dark and don't have to worry about losing your pen.

One of the only sections that is still paying attention is where the stylists and mentors are sitting. I can see Haymitch and Mia and Regina. A couple rows back from them, I can see Lynn Rayna. She looks bored, resting her chin on her hand, surveying the stage.

The interviews just keep dragging. It's three minutes each, but there's always commentary before and after. It's been nearly two hours before it's finally my turn to be interviewed.

I join Gaius Flickerman on the center of the stage. He shakes my hand.

"And last but currently not least, is Ike Meadows. Welcome, Ike. So, what has been your favorite thing about your stay in the Capitol?"

"The food is great, I really like all the different kinds of fruit. And I like how well the clothes fit me."

The audience does not really react. I'm not exactly enjoying myself up here either.

Gaius plays it off, though. "Oh, that's wonderful to hear. The clothes do make the man. So, handsome lad like you, do you have a lady back home?"

I can feel a blush rising on my cheeks. Hopefully the makeup hides it. "Uh, no. Honestly, I'm normally too busy studying to socialize much."

Oh, great, I just admitted to being a loser on live television.

"What are you so busy studying?" Gaius saves me with a winning smile and faked interest.

"Logistics and engineering, mainly. I'm good with numbers."

It helps that I see everything as color coded. Which apparently isn't normal since people give me weird looks when I talk about 7 being a green number while 2 is dark red.

"Speaking of numbers, you got quite a high one in training. Care to give any hints on how you got it?"

We're not supposed to talk about what we did in training but it still appears to be tradition to ask about it anyways.

"Well, I really can't give specifics. But I've got a head for numbers and now how to put it to use. Logistics are important."

I can organize things. Can ration out supplies and figure out where manpower is best used. It should be effective in the alliance, especially since my score has made me leader.

"Now, Ike, I'm sure this is a difficult topic to speak about," Gaius says with not entirely genuine sympathy, "but your brother, Jet, was a tribute in the 87th Games. How was that experience for you?"

I knew this was coming, but it's still hard to figure out what to say.

"Um... It was difficult. I miss him. But I was proud of him for never giving up." I find a well of confidence somewhere deep inside me. "And I plan on making it even further than he did."

Some of the audience seems to be paying attention again, looking up from their tablets.

Gaius smiles at me. "Well put, Ike. We have a rather unique opportunity tonight. The Victor of the 87th Hunger Games, Miss Lynn Rayna, is in the audience. Is there anything you would like to say to her?"

A spotlight focuses on Lynn. Even from this distance, I can see the smirk on her face. But I can also see her eyebrows raise and her eyes widen. Good, at least both of us have been caught off guard by this.

I don't think the audience wants to hear call her a murderous bitch.

Instead, I try to think of something clever to say, since the only thing Haymitch has ever really complimented me on is being clever.

"I have plenty to say to her. About what she did." I bite my tongue and take a breath to steady myself before I trust myself to not say something stupid when I speak again. "But I'm sure I will have more than enough time to speak with her when I'm the next Victor."

That makes the audience stir. Some are laughing, but a bit of it is good natured; impressed, maybe, by my show of confidence. What's the phrase, "fake it till you make it?"

That's basically what I'm running on.

Gaius smiles and laughs along with the audience. He gestures to where all the mentors are sitting. "Now, Miss Rayna, do you have a response?"

Wait, what? This is my interview. Why are they letting her talk?

Lynn accepts something from a stagehand. A microphone, I guess. 

"Glad to have made such an impression on you, Ike." Her voice makes my blood run cold, and she narrows her eyes. "But really now, there's nothing to lose your head over."

The audience starts laughing.

She just... She turned it into a joke. She turned killing my brother into a joke.

I try to think of something clever to say in reply but I can't think of anything.

Then the buzzer sounds and the time is up. It's my interview, but Lynn got the last word.


	6. Chapter 6

**Day 1**

**Ike Meadows**  
**District 12, Male Tribute**

Haymitch told me to try and get some sleep but I can't. All I've managed to do is just lay in bed and stare at the ceiling. Even when I close my eyes, I do not fall asleep. I am somewhere between terrified out of my mind and resigned to my inevitable fate and still pissed off from the interviews. I try to focus on being pissed because it's more useful than scared or resigned. I find myself wanting to clutch the locket, but it was taken away after the interviews. 

The Gamemakers check every tribute's token to make sure it can't be used as a weapon that would give an unfair advantage. Their priorities of what they check do not make any sense. A token cannot make the difference. Years of illegal training make the difference.  
But Careers are entertaining, so that's not going to be checked for. The Capitol probably pays the Career Districts for it. Sets them up with fancy schools so they can train murderers.

That's why between the three Career Districts, they've won just over half of the Hunger Games. Forty-five Victors between them since the Games began. Well, forty-four Victors, and forty-five Games, since Enobaria Harlow won the Third Quarter Quell. 

Mia arrives to get me sometime before dawn. I follow her up to the roof, still dressed in sleep clothes that never really got slept in.

We are the only ones on the roof. I guess each tribute is picked up individually. What order do they pick us up in, like the private training sessions or the interviews? Either way, I'm second to last, or last.

A hovercraft appears out of nowhere. The sudden appearance should startle me, but I can't be bothered to be startled at this point. I'm going to die anyways. No point of being scared of a machine. It's the other tributes that scare me.

A ladder drops down in front of me. I grab on and something freezes me in place. I can't move.

Okay, I'm scared now.

The ladder winches me upward. In the hovercraft, a nurse injects something into the back of my shoulder. She places a bandage over the puncture and explains, "This is your tracker."

Suddenly I can move again as whatever froze me stops. I take a seat on the couch that the nurse points out. Mia is winched up after me and sits beside me. The hovercraft closes up and the windows go dark before it starts to move. That way I have no idea of the direction we are heading in and have no chance at guessing what the arena may be like based on location.

An Avox carries in a breakfast tray. I grab a piece of toast and start nibbling at it. The food eases my churning stomach. This might be my last meal. I should enjoy it.

I spread some jam onto the toast and take a bigger bite.

The whole ride to the arena, I eat toast with jam and fried eggs and sausage. I drink three whole glasses of orange juice. Even on the off-chance this is not my last meal, it might be the last one I have in a while. Being hydrated and well fed from the start may let me escape the Bloodbath.

The only reason I stop eating is when we touch down and are brought to the pen.  
Mia directs me to shower and brush my teeth. I soak under the warm water until Mia orders me out so I can dry off and she can comb my hair. I am almost tempted to tell her to shove off. My ability to care has ceased functioning.

But I do what she tells me to. I'd rather her be the one to send me off, not a Peacekeeper.  
Mia parts my hair down the center and brushes my bangs away from my forehead.  
"Keep your head high, Ike." Mia tells me.

It's easy for her to say things like that. I do appreciate the fact she's trying. She could not care at all, which would be the more expected thing.

The outfit arrives, delivered from a chute of some kind. There must be a massive network of tunnels under all the arenas. The pens and launch tubes are below the arena, and most mutts rise up from tunnels. Traps would be underground, too.

Mia hands me the outfit piece by piece.

First is the underwear. Then a two piece undersuit kind of thing, made of some sort of thin, soft wool, the top covering my torso and upper arms and the shorts stopping just above my knees. The arena will be cold then, if the Gamemakers have bothered to give the tributes something like this. The socks are the same wool stuff as the under suit. 

The pants are dark brown, made of a thick fabric, with plenty of pockets, and zippers at the knees. So the arena will be cold, but may get warmer during the middle of the day, since the pants can be turned to shorts.

The shirt is long sleeved and dark grey. The material is really thin and does not feel like it will keep me warm. I'll have to ask Mia if she knows the point of it.

She hands me a jacket. It's lined with fleece. Again, this is for cold weather. The outside of the jacket is mottled brown and green. Camouflage. The Gamemakers really are setting this up to be a long Games. I feel like I might have a chance then. If the Gamemakers set up a quick, violent clash, like the year when the Cornucopia contained only maces, then I'd die in the first couple of days. With a longer Games, I'll have the chance to use the survival skills I learned, and there's chances the Careers will get picked off by mutts or each other before I have to face any of them.

Last are the boots. They're lined with the same fleece stuff as the jacket. The soles are thick, with deep treads. I think that makes them hiking boots.

When I'm done getting dressed, and when Mia's done preening me, I ask, "What do you think?"

"It's rather standard hiking gear. Expect it to be chilly. Not freezing, though." She answers. "With those boots, there will be either rocky ground or a lot of tree roots. A mix of both, maybe. On the plus side, none of this is waterproofed, so don't expect a lot of water. Which will put District 4 at a disadvantage."

There's a bit of disdain in her voice when she mentions District 4. I think I'm almost starting to like Mia. I don't dislike her anymore, at any rate.

From a vest pocket, Mia pulls out Spring's locket and holds it out to me. I take it and put it around my neck. Not wanting it to be at risk of being grabbed, I tuck it into the undershirt so the metal is right up against my skin. Some people talk about loved ones looking after you even after they're dead. I hope Jet's looking out for me. I need all the help I can get.  
A soft voice announces that it is time for launch and directs me to enter the launch tube.  
I head over to the tube and step onto the metal platform. My heart pounds in my chest.  
Mia reaches out and brushes a stray lock of hair off my forehead. A frown passes over her face, but she claps her hands and replaces it with a smile. "May the odds be ever in your favor, Ike."

"Thank you," I reply.

A glass tube slides over me and cuts me off from Mia. I'm just realizing now that she's going to be the last face I see belonging to someone who doesn't want me dead.

The platform begins to move and I ascend into darkness. My heart pounds faster. It feels like it will burst out of my chest at any moment. My limbs tingle. This must be what adrenaline feels like.

There's a hint of light, so I close my eyes so I'm not immediately blinded.

Gemus Laurel's voice echoes around me, "Ladies and gentlemen, let the Ninetieth Hunger Games begin!"

I crack my eyes open and blink a few times to adjust to the light. Need to get my bearings quickly, I have sixty seconds.

I can see the opening of the Cornucopia. The good thing is that I'm nearest the best supplies. The bad thing is that it puts me in the path of all of the Careers.

The ground is covered in rocks, worn smooth, most no smaller than my fist. The air smells like pine. The familiarity of it makes me feel sad. There is a chill to the air, which means we're high up in altitude if it is this cold in the summer.

I look around for my allies. Sally is off to my right, between us are a couple of backpacks that I might be able to grab as I run toward her. Burl and Red are nowhere to be seen, they're behind the Cornucopia then. Cord and Hannah are by each other, off to my left, separated only by the boy from District 10.

To my immediate left, Delphinia locks eyes with me.

Oh, shit.

A savage grin spreads across her face.

The Gamemakers put us right next to each other. They put us right next to each other so she can kill me in the Bloodbath. This is ridiculous. The Hunger Games aren't exactly fair to begin with, but this is downright rigged.

I tense and get ready to run the second I can hear the gong. If I go to the right, there's a couple of backpacks and rolled up blankets between me and Sally. I can grab the big green one as I run. Maybe even throw a bedroll at Delphinia because I think she's planning on chasing me.

The gong sounds and I sprint.

The air is filled with the sound of boots scrabbling on the rocks. There is a flicker of movement to my left. This is going to hurt.

Delphinia crashes into me and we go tumbling to the ground. I twist as I fall, trying to remember things that Jet taught me and that I learned in training. I fall on my side and flail, trying to strike Delphina before she can pin me. She drives a knee into my gut and punches me in the face. The white bursts that fill my vision make the phrase "seeing stars" make a lot more sense. She gets her hands around my throat and starts squeezing.

I try to buck her off me but she's taller and heavier than me. My vision starts going dark. Most of my blows just bounce uselessly off her arms. She leers down at me before turning to the side and shouting, "Seth, get me an axe! I want to cut his head off!"

No. I won't let that happen. My family will not see me get decapitated by another Career from District 4.

I struggle harder as the edges of my vision close in. Sheer panic keeps my thoughts racing. A rock digs into my back and I keep squirming. If I could just loosen her grip on my neck.

Rock!

My right hand closes around the nearest rock and I swing it at Delphinia's head. It connects with her jaw. Her grip loosens and I suck in a desperate breath.

Before she can recover, I swing the rock again. It connects with her shoulder. This gives me the opening to buck her off and scramble backwards. I get to my feet and resume my previous plan of running. With the Cornucopia to my left, I know I'm going in the correct direction.

There's a backpack in my path and I grab it. It pulls back then I realize someone else has gotten a hold of it. The girl snarls at me and says, "Give it."

No. It's mine. I stay silent and give the backpack a violent yank. My throat burns and panic still wells up inside me. This might give Delphinia enough time to get an axe and come finish the job she started. The girl loses her grip on the backpack and I sling it around my shoulder in a fluid motion I have no idea how I managed to pull off.

The girl has a knife.

She charges at me. I dodge to the side and try to keep my balance on the rocky ground. The girl grabs the sleeve of my jacket. She pulls me closer and tries to stab me in the gut with her knife. I twist out of the way. The knife cuts a ragged line of pain across my ribs.  
I swing my rock and it strikes the girl in the side of the head. Her grip on my jacket sleeve is broken. The blow jars my arm. She lurches toward me, knife still in hand. There's red on the side of her head and on my rock and I swing down at her head again. The second blow is harder and steadier. She crumples.

I keep running towards the direction Sally went in. I scoop up another backpack as I pass it by. 

The male tribute from District 11, Dane, sprints past me. There is a flash of metal and an axe appears in his side. Dane crumples. Glancing back, I see the one who threw the axe is Wolfe. He bends down to pick up another axe.

Going faster seems like a good idea. I cross the ring of launch platforms.

My lungs burn but I just keep running at a full sprint. The lack of dying tells me that Wolfe has not successfully embedded an axe in my back.

I crush a sapling underfoot. The woods surround me. Away from the Cornucopia and with no obvious sounds of pursuit, I think I'm technically free of the bloodbath.

I'm not dead yet. That's nice.

Somewhere to my left, I hear someone else moving through the woods.

"Over here." A voice calls out.

It's Sally. She's not dead either. I have at least one ally. Even better.

It's funny how surviving three back to back to back near death experiences make me feel optimistic. Because I'm not dead yet. And that's good.

Sally already has a backpack slung over one shoulder so I keep the second one I grabbed for the moment. She gestures behind her, "I saw Burl heading that way."

I follower her lead as we head in the direction she saw Burl go.

A scream splits the air, predictably coming from the direction of the not so distant Cornucopia. The voice, though. I know that voice.

"Kitta..." Her name comes out more like a gasp than a word.

I have to keep moving, though. She didn't want an alliance. I offered, she refused, there's nothing more I could have done for her.

Sally looks back at me. I square my shoulders and try to not sound like I'm about to cry, "We need to find the others."

It hurts to talk. I was nearly strangled so my throat must be badly bruised. That's it. They why my voice catches in my throat. No other reason. I can-not-will-not think of Kitta and her dying scream.

There is movement through the trees. I tighten my grip on my rock. Someone lopes towards us. I can see a shock of white blond hair. It's Burl coming towards us. He skids to a stop and calls out, "This way!"

He turns and runs back in the direction he came from. Sally runs after him. I try to keep up. My legs still feel like jelly and my lungs still burn. The lingering dregs of adrenaline push me onward. The cut across my ribs is shallow and has already scabbed over. It looks a lot worse than it actually is. I'll still need to bandage it when we stop to rest later so it doesn't get inflected.

Burl leads up deeper into the woods, following a gravel trail. I hope he does not plan on sticking to the trail. That's a near guarantee to have the Careers track us down and kill us on the first night.

The trail does make it easier to traverse the woods, though, with no roots or slippery patches of pine needles in the way.

The path forks up ahead and Cord is standing at the fork, holding a small pack and a lantern. She points to the left-hand path. "I didn't see a stream down either one, but there's a rock slide waiting to happen the other way."

Burls looks back to me and Sally. "Marcel got Red. Did either of you see Hannah?"

Cord pipes up again. "I saw her. Pretty sure she saw me too, but she just ran in the other direction. No sense in trying to look for her."

Heartless as it is, Cord has a good point.

Everyone is looking at me and I remember that I was designated leader. "You're right." My voice still comes out as a croak, so I try to get all the talking done with. "We'll deal with Hannah if we run into her later. For now, let's go down the safe path. We'll just need to find some shelter off the path before nightfall. That's when the pack will start hunting."

* * *

**Lynn Rayna**  
**District 4**  
**Victor of the 87th Hunger Games, Mentor of Delphinia Tyde**

"Half of them. I lost half of my gamblers because she thought it would be better to cut his head off instead of finishing the choke or braining him with a rock." I know I'm sounding like a broken record at this point, but I'm too pissed off to care.

Across from me, Basalt nods. "It happens. They get cocky. Get a plan in their head and won't budge even if logic tells them otherwise."

This is not supposed to be a problem I'm having. District 2 has the sadist problem. Not us. Except Delph had to go and be Delph. And now the gambling sponsors I so carefully coveted last year are too nervous about her odds to bet on her, so that means they won't sponsor her. She got a kill, nearly did decapitate the girl from District 12. That doesn't matter, though, because she did not get the kill that had been hyped since Reaping Day when Ike's name was pulled.

"Not to make things worse," Basalt starts, calm as always, "but the alliance total is low. Even with the disappointing Bloodbath, it should be higher."

The answer to that problem is obvious and part of the reason why I'm so worried about losing my gamblers.

"Marcel." I point out. "Midas isn't getting any alliance sponsorships. He couldn't give less of a shit about the pack right now. I'd do the same in his position, so I can't blame him for it, but that's what's hurting the total. I don't think he's even getting any District sponsorships for that matter."

Basalt folds his arms across his chest and glowers. "The outlier's alliance will also be a drain."

"Especially with Ike getting that Bloodbath kill. This was what, the fifth or sixth time ever that a tribute from 12 got a Bloodbath kill. And they've all got the underdog sponsors backing them."

All of the bleeding hearts will be going for Ike as well, thanks to that damn card they had me read during the interviews. It was bad enough they tried to go for a confrontation, but the line they fed me was horrible. I'm more than a bit of an ass sometimes, but even when I'm in a spiteful mood, I'd never stoop that low.

"Sixth time." Basalt answers. He's one of the only people I know who knows Games stats just as well as I do (or maybe better, but I'll never tell him that).

His glower deepens.

"We're going to have an early split this year." He states and I can't help but agree.

The low funded Career pack causes stress. They can tell when no picnics or other sponsor gifts are sent. I try to gauge the split lines. "Yours will stay together, I'm guessing. At least they'll have a truce. Seth and Delph, well, they better at least make a truce. No idea about Marcel and Lustora. I'll wager just a truce, if he doesn't kill her in the middle of the night first."

"You think he'd pull that?" Basalt sounds surprised.

There's a taboo about District partners killing each other, but that doesn't mean it never happens.

"Yep." I smile at him. "If I'd been caught trying to burn down the Cornucopia, the first thing I would have done was kill Dove. If necessary, I would have then tried to shift blame onto Ajax, claiming I caught him allying with Dove to turn on the pack. If it meant killing him to prove I wasn't involved, I would have done it. Would have felt like shit about it, but I'd be alive to feel it."

Basalt shakes his head. "There are all kinds of Victors."

That's the most diplomatic disapproval I've ever heard.

The car takes us onto a more populated street. We're heading back to the Center, business concluded for the night. Wonderfully envelope free for the both of us.

I kick off my shoes and put my feet up on Basalt's leg. He stares me down and arches a brow. Carefully, he picks my feet up and sets them to the side. I shift them right back.

He sighs. "Let me guess, you want the cameras to see this for some reason."

"I'm pissed at Midas. So, what better way to show it than fake cheat on a fake boyfriend?" I smile as Basalt rolls his eyes at me. "I'll let you have first statement with the tabloids. Or I'll back off if you don't want to get involved."

"My first statement will be denying everything." Basalt announces, then he laughs and asks, "Why am I friends with you?"

"Not a clue, Bassy."

He glares at the use of the unwanted nickname, which is sticking solely because of how much it bothers him. He practically growls, "Oh, fuck you."

I know I'm friends with him because it's just so much fun to make him lose his composure.


	7. Chapter 7

**Day 2**

**Ike Meadows**  
**District 12, Male Tribute**

Water. We all need water.

Each of us has a pack from the Cornucopia. There's extra socks and ration bars and a weird silver sheet that kept us warm during the night by reflecting back body heat. There are canteens and water purification tablets, but no water.

It's hard not to snap at Cord, who is an arrogant know-it-all when she wants to be. Which is all the time. She prattles on and on and on. I don't even hear words anymore. Just noise.

Burl's voice breaks through Cord's static. "We know where water is. The lake."

"And there's springs that have to be feeding it." I reiterate my point from this morning, but the argument does feel weaker with how thirsty and irritated I am. "Look, we can get a bit closer, maybe, to see the streams better. A bit further north through. Away from the Cornucopia."

Cord's voice stops being just noise. "The Careers could be hunting." She points out.

Burl nods. "They probably only have one guard. This is as safe as it will be trying to get water from the lake."

I hate that they're right.

I rub my neck, at the bruises still around my throat left by Delphinia's attempt to strangle me. The move does not go unnoticed. "I guess..."

It's as close as I can manage to convey by reluctance. This is not something worth fighting so much over.

We turn towards the lake, following the downslope instead of walking perpendicular to it. We come across some gravel paths again, but walk over them, trying not to leave footprints behind while keeping an eye out for any that might tip us off to any tributes that came by this way.

Some of the gravel does look overturned. That could be animals, too, though. Or Mutts. I hope there's not Mutts around already. There are plenty of different animals in the forest that the Gamemakers could make dangerous. There could be carnivorous squirrels, or deer with fangs. Normal bears would be deadly enough.

The trees get thinner in places and there are glimpses of the lake. Burl starts looking up and I try to figure out what he's looking for. There's a particularly tall tree nearby and he walks over to it. He shrugs off his pack and holds it out, saying, "I'm going to try and get a look at the Cornucopia."

I take the pack from him and watch as Burl swings himself up onto the lowest branch. He moves easily, scaling the tree. Looking at him, stocky and broad shouldered, I would have never though he could move with anything like grace. But he does when he's off the ground.

Burl keeps climbing and I'm sure one of the branches will snap under he weight. Then I notice how he tests the branches before shifting all his weight onto them. Burl gets around forty feet in the air, above most of the other treetops. He cranes his head towards the south where the Cornucopia lies. He shades his eyes but does not try to call anything down to us.

"Think he sees something?" Sally asks.

I shrug and watch as Burl begins to climb back down.

He does it without incident, dropping to the ground. I hand him back his pack. He slings it over his shoulder and says, "They've got a fire going in front of the Cornucopia. I could only see one person moving over there. Think it's the boy from 2."

If there is only one guard, it should be okay going down to the lake to get water.

"Okay." I try to figure out a plan, thinking out loud. "If we all go down to fill canteens, we'll probably be spotted. So the fastest runner should do it. We should find somewhere to meet up if that person gets spotted and we all have to run."

Sally starts to raise her hand like she's in class, then stops and says, "I'm fast. I can do it. We can meet along one of the paths maybe, then once we're all together we can head into the woods again."

"Sounds good to me." Cord pipes up.

Of course it sounds good to her. She's facing no real risk.

We find another one of the gravel paths and follow it up and down, looking for a good place to run into the woods.

Once we find a relatively sparse group of trees we can run through to get further uphill again, Sally takes all of our canteens and heads down the path to the lake.

The wait is tense. I feel vulnerable standing on the path. The Careers are hunting right now, if only one is at the Cornucopia guarding it. Sally could get spotted. I half expect to hear a cannon shot any second.

A few minutes pass but Sally is not back yet. What could be taking her so long?

Through a gap in the trees, I spot movement. It's Sally. She runs up the path, shouting, "I don't think he saw me but let's move."

We all take off through the woods. It's tricky, running across the damp pine needles and avoiding the roots. But the grips on the soles of my boots do their job and I don't actually trip.

We run until all of us are out of breath and who knows how much higher in the mountainous terrain that forms a kinds of huge bowl around the lake. There are some flattish rocks in a pile. I check them for insets or traps. Once I know they're clear, I sit down. Sally sits next to me and passes me a canteen. Burl and Cord join us and accept their canteens from Sally as well.

"We need to put the tablets in them." Sally reminds us.

The lake water is pretty still so could have bacteria in it. We all dig the tablets out of our packs and follow the instructions, adding two of the tablets to the canteen and settle in to wait half an hour.

I hear movement in the trees and tense. I grab onto my rock, which I've taken to keeping in one of the side pockets of my pack. It's heavy and kind of dumb to be armed with only a rock, but it's the rock or nothing.

The source of the noise is a squirrel in the branches of one of the trees. It does not really make me relax because there's been squirrel mutts before.

Burl moves slowly, pulling something out of his pack. It's a package of nuts and a blanket. He whispers, "Stay still and watch."

I do as he says. He tosses a nut towards the squirrel and then another one closer to where he is sitting. The squirrel darts away at the movement, but comes back quickly enough. It grabs the first nut and stuff it in its mouth. It inches towards the second one, darting back and forth as it is forced to get closer to us.

When it grabs the second nut, Burl lunges, tossing the blanket over the squirrel and grabbing it as it tries to flee. He snaps its neck and holds it up proudly. "Who's up for lunch and a run?"

We'll need a fire to cook the squirrel and smoke will draw the Careers. Lunch and a run.

Sally and Cord both look to me. I really don't like being the leader.

I say what I think makes the most sense. "After we've had something to drink. If we have to split up, we'll meet at our camp from yesterday, by the two charred stumps."

No one disagrees. Not even Cord.

Burl finds a sharp rock and uses it to butcher the squirrel. I go to get firewood and Sally jumps at the opportunity to go with me. I don't mind having someone else with me to watch my back and help me carry some of the branches.

When we gets back with the firewood, the half an hour wait is up, so we can actually have some water. I make sure not to chug half the canteen in one go because that will just make me sick. I sip at the water and start separating the bigger branches from what will work as kindling.

Using the same sharp rock that Burl used, I shave some of the bark to make a little pile of wood shaving. Cord scoots over and says, "I can get it from here."

She take out the lantern she's been messing with and takes out two of the wires from the case. Using the spark that jumps between the wires when she flicks the switch on the lantern, Cord lights the kindling pile. She feeds the fire small branches and builds it up to something large enough for Burl to quickly roast the bits of squirrel on.

We all scarf down the stringy meat as soon as he hands it to us. I burn my tongue but it's great having actually hot food. The meat is finished too soon and it's time for us to move. I extinguish the fire with a few handfuls of dirt.

Since I'm leader, I'm the one that sets the direction. I pick north, heading towards the glacier, since it's logically the last place anyone wants to go, so it's also the last place the Careers would look for us.

We jog through the sparse woods that grow around the rocky ground. I guess this is the mountain's tree line, then. The highest point any large vegetation will grow.

There are no sounds of pursuit. The smoke from the fire has all dissipated, too, looking back at it. The Careers will hopefully only waste energy looking for us.

After a while, I'm not really sure how long, we slow to a quick walk. There are still a couple hours of daylight, I think, with the sun not yet touching the horizon.

Snow begins to fall. It is only a light snow but I am already tired and cold from how far up we are. I zip up my jacket and pull on the gloves I'd gotten from my pack. Even with the gloves, I still shove my hands in my pockets. I do feel bad no one else has gloves, but they were in my pack so they're mine.

The cold does not bother Burl, or not to a degree that he lets onto it. Sally and Cord keep complaining. Both are from urban Districts, and even if there's snow, they can always just go inside to warm back up.

We really need to get some shelter before night falls now. I look further up the mountain slope. We had taken shelter under an overhang last night and that strategy should keep working.

"Hey," I get everyone's attention, "keep an eye out for another cave. One big enough that we can cover the entrance with branches to keep the snow out."

"Won't that make it really obvious we're there?" Cord asks.

"The snow will camouflage it." I answer.

Cord looks like she's going to say something in retort, but Burl interrupts her. "The Pack won't be hunting in earnest yet. They rarely get another kill until the third or fourth day. Plus, they won't want to travel far in the snow in case it gets worse and they're stuck away from the Cornucopia."

Burl's good at this. I wonder if I can talk him into taking over as leader.

Cord gets the sulking look on her face again and huffs, "Fine."

We get closer to the trees while looking for shelter since the branches keep some of the snow off us.

There are plenty of rocky overhand kind of areas, but nothing big enough to fit all of us. The snow picks up a big, as if we're being given a warning to find shelter soon. That's when I spot a decent sized overhang shallow cave thing with a lone tree growing next to it.

"Over here." I call out, and jog over to the cave.

I don't go straight in, since there could be something already inside, like another tribute or a mutt. Nothing moves though. I pick up a small rock and throw it into the darkest shadows, which really aren't that dark. Still, nothing makes a move.

"Looks good to me." Burl states.

He goes off to get some branches to cover the entrance with and I follow. Burl is stronger than me and more used to hauling lumber, so he easy carries more than twice what I can. Still, I can do something.

We drag over two more hauls of pine needle covered branches that Sally and Cord arrange into a screen for camouflage and as an extension of the overhang to give us more room. The snow gets heavier.

With how many left over twigs there are, and all the rocks scattered around, I set up a few tension traps by the tree line. I don't have anything to bait them with but I might get lucky anyways.

The snow gets too thick to remain out any longer, so I retreat to our newest shelter. I sit between Burl and Sally and do not mind so much when Sally leans against me because she's warm.

* * *

**Day 3**

**Ike Meadows**  
**District 12, Male Tribute**

 

I can't breathe. I sit up, clutching at my throat, which seems too tight.

"Hey." That's Burl's voice. "You okay?"

All I can do is shake my head and gasp a bit. I get some air. I gulp and gasp until I can actually do something resembling normal breathing.

Cord and Sally are still asleep, so it's just me and Burl.

"Better?" He questions.

I shake my head again but manage words. "Nightmare. About Jet."

The only good thing is that I never really remember the nightmares when I wake up. There's just the lingering terror and grief left behind.

"My brother died in a logging accident. Rope snapped and he got crushed. So I get it. Wasn't on TV, though."

I curl my arms around my legs and rest my chin on my knees. "My sister had some of his ashes put in a locket. That's what my token is."

"You cremate in 12? That's what we do, too."

I raise my head enough to nod before setting it back on my chin. "Not everyone does. There is a cemetery. But Jet always said he liked the idea of being cremated better. Didn't want to get eaten by bugs. Told us that before he left."

"Told my little brother I wanted flowers carved on my urn. He's great at carving flowers and vines. Delicate stuff like that. Hope he doesn't have to." Burl gestures to the arena around us. "But, you know the odds."

"Yeah. Not sure what I want. Cremation, I guess. There's still room in the locket."

I hold it up, so Burl can see it. I doubt this conversation is being played for the audience. They never show anyone talking about dying. It's too real, probably. Doesn't fit the sacrifice and honor narrative the Capitol wants to Games to represent.

Sally stirs and mutters, "What time is it?"

I look up at the sky. It's still dark out, but not pitch black. "Not dawn. But close."

Sally sits up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "I'll go check the traps. Hopefully there's breakfast waiting for us."

I hope so, too. Otherwise breakfast will be ration bars. We do have enough to easily last us another few days, eating half for breakfast, the other half for lunch, then a whole one for dinner.

The sky is turning light grey, tinted with pink as dawn approaches. I rearrange the things in my backpack. There's little sense in trying to pack efficiently with so little things, just a light blanket and the canteen since I'm wearing my gloves, but the action calms me.

Sally returns empty handed. That's not that surprising though.

The pink and orange colors of dawn come only briefly. The pale light gets blocked out by heavy clouds. The constant light snow that started last afternoon turns thicker. The wind begins to howl as a blizzard tears across the arena. We burrow deeper into the rocky overhang, shoveling snow to make a cave.

We form a human chain, and I get stuck on the very end, tasked with gathering branches for firewood. A lot of the pine wood is still green and will smoke. But we're in the middle of a blizzard so I don't think the Career pack will be hunting anytime soon.

In the center of out cave, Burl makes a chimney in the ceiling and we pile the branches under it. The pile is not very big, so we reform the chain with Burl on the end this time. He finds a few small logs and hauls them into the snow cave.

Cord does the lantern trick again and lights the fire. We all huddle around it. I take my blanket back out of my pack and begin to wrap it around me Sally grabs one end, nestles against me, and wraps the blanket around her shoulders as well. I guess it does make sense to conserve body heat.

Snow is a good insulator, so we're not really in danger of freezing to death as long as the fire is going.

"Well," I start, because I'm leader, "we're going to need to go get some more firewood later. But for now we should get some more sleep. Conserve our energy."

There's a murmur of "okay" in response. Burl and Cord get closer to me and Sally and we all lean against each other and nod off.

A cannon shot breaks through the howling winds, jolting me awake. Everyone stirs, looking around the group to make sure it wasn't one of us that passed in their sleep or something. The fire has gotten low but still crackles. We'll have to go get more firewood soon.

We're all alive. So that answers that.

"So," Burls says, "who do you think that was?"

Cord pauses in her tinkering with the lantern. "It won't be any from the Career pack, they're sheltered at the Cornucopia. It's none of us. That leaves eight possibilities." She holds her hands up in front of her to tick off the potentially dead tributes. "There's Argon, the guy from 5, Tom, Hannah, umm... both from 9, Antonio from 10, and the girl from 11."

That sounds about right. I don't feel up to guessing who amongst them is dead. We'll find out soon enough. The snow will have to let up at least temporarily for the anthem and the seal and now the showing of the dead. That's when we can go get more firewood.

Everyone is awake, so I take the opportunity to extract myself from Sally. I think she's trying for the romance angle, with all the touching my arm and curling up next to me stuff, and that's the last thing I want to get caught up in. She is nice and really pretty but we're tributes and there's no way for both of us to survive this.

"Think it might be the girl from 11." Burl suggests. "She never got any allies and she's small. Unless she got really lucky and found a good shelter, she'd die of exposure first out of everyone."

Sally gives me a kind of wounded look before scooting closer to the fire now she can't leech off my warmth. She tosses her hair and says, "Think its Tom. The withdrawal will be getting even worse by now. Saw the track marks and he was a heavy user. Could have had a seizure from it."

Cord does not offer up a theory as to who it could be. I don't bother in speculating. Whoever it is, it does not actually matter. Everyone is a threat.


	8. Chapter 8

**Day 4**

**Lynn Rayna**  
**District 4**  
**Victor of the 87th Hunger Games, Mentor of Delphinia Tyde**

With seven members, the pack is able to split into hunting parties more easily. It is still early in the games, so they remain in groups of three, leaving a single guard back at the Cornucopia.

Delphinia, Seth, and Marmot make up one group and Wolfe, Pluta, and Lustora make of the other. Marcel drew the short straw, short pine needle actually, and had to remain as guard. No one in the pack seems overly fond of him. They all silently blame him for the lack of a picnic while he has been sent a gift of glittering throwing knives already.

Midas does not seem to realize he will be getting his brother killed with his actions. I look over to my left. Midas never returned to the Center last night. Jasmine overlooks the District 1 consoles. Her face is draw and she wraps one of her ever present shawls more tightly around her frame. Her arena was a network of ice caves and she claims the cold attached itself to her bones. She is never warm anymore. The snow and ice on screen has been setting her more on edge.

I take a sip of coffee and turn my attention back to the console screens.

Delphinia, Seth, and Marmot approach the trio of cabins lined up on the western shore of the lake. There are no windows, so there is no telling what's inside without opening the doors. Each of them takes a cabin. Weapons at the ready, they kick the doors down. It almost happens in unison. It takes a couple kicks to actually get the doors down due to the poor purchase they have on the tumble of rocks at their feet that make up the lakeshore.

The main feed switches over to several shots of the cabins. There are beds and cabinets and wood burning stoves. No one is inside the cabins.

Seth is at the southernmost cabin and calls over to Delphinia and Marmot, "Let's check them one at a time. Looks like there's supplies inside. We need to watch for traps."

Delphinia and Marmot join Seth and the three enter the one room building. The cameras once again pan over a stack of firewood against one wall with a small stove, a bed piled high with pillows and quilts, and several rows of cabinets that might hold additional supplies.

Delphinia heads to the cabinets. She taps the door with her foot and waits, listening for the sounds of something moving inside. There are no sounds and she grabs the cabinet door with the hook on the spine of her axe. Side stepping, she opens the cabinet.

Inside are boxes of jerky and stacks of MREs. Still holding onto her axe, Delphinia sets down her bag and starts filling it with supplies, focusing on the more filling MREs. Good move. Maybe I did train some sense into her. 

The focus of the main feed centers on Marmot, who is folding up one of the blankets to stick in her own pack. Something moves on the blanket but it blends into the red and green plaid. A leg brushes Marmot's hand. She jerks back but not quickly enough. A huge spider clings to her hand and sinks its fangs into her hand.

Marmot screams and it is like that was the signal. Spider mutts pour out of the blankets, a riot of colors matching their hiding spot. Delphinia zips her pack and chops the nearest spider mutt in two. She runs out the door, grabbing Seth and pulling him behind her. The spider mutts keep pouring out of the blankets and quits.

The main feed splits. On one half, Marmot is covered in spider mutts, their fangs sinking into every bit of exposed flesh they can reach, and she screams. On the other half, a river of venomous color flows after Delphinia and Seth.

They near the lake and Seth shouts, "Dive in!"

Seth dives into the water, Delphinia right behind him. When they surface, they're gasping for breath from the shock of cold. The spider mutts do not follow them into the water. Marmot falls to the ground, still screaming and thrashing. Several of the spider mutts are crushed, but there are simply too many of them. Marmot visibly starts to weaken. The screams quiet and the trashing slows.

Marmot's cannon fires. At least she will walk in Elysium.

The focus of the main feed is taken up Delphinia and Seth swimming away from the cabins. They're forced to stay in the water as the spider mutts skitter along the bank in parallel with them. The spider mutts seem to hit an invisible wall around fifty feet away from the cabins and turn back. (I'll have to check the distance in a freeze frame later.)

Another twenty feet and Delphinia climbs out of the water. Seth stays in another ten feet, but he's northern and more used to the cold. They run back to the Cornucopia, teeth chattering and cloths dripping.

There's a fire in a brazier lit at the Cornucopia. Marcel stands guard, hatchet in one hand and knife in the other. He does not relax even as Delphinia and Seth are within speaking range, only calling out, "What happened?"

"Mutts." Delphinia replies, dropping her pack and wriggling out of her sodden jacket, "Spider in the cabins. Got Marmot."

Seth and Delphinia continue to strip out of their dangerously wet clothes. I know the concern is hypothermia but with each bit of clothing removed, there are sponsorships coming in. Some are large enough to have names attached. When I see Oren Sonata's name next to a sponsorship of 10 solidi, my desire to mutilate the man only increases. I already want to mutilate him a lot. I didn't think it was possible to want to hurt him more than I already do. But now he wants his hands on Delphinia. Delph, who is my tribute and my friend, and I cannot do a thing to protect her from the likes of him.

Seth and Delphinia are left in their underwear, huddling by the fire. Marcel jokes about strip teasing and offers to join in on the fun. Seth throws a wet sock at his head. Marcel relents, grabs a couple of blankets from the supplies, and hands them over to Delphinia and Seth

Wrapped in blankets, drying their clothes on the rocks near the fire, Delphinia and Seth are stuck at the Cornucopia for now. Marcel sits down with them. He sits closer to Delphinia, giving her a pointed smile. I'm not surprised he's going for that angle. He has the looks for it. Delphinia returns the smile and that does surprise me.

She's had a thing going on with Brine. But the rules are different in the arena. Everything in there is fake but too real at the same time. Arena romances are never real, though. Plus, they're good for sponsorships as long as the romance does not get too popular. I'll be checking those polls earlier than normal this year.

The three pack members discuss their next move. Hunting groups will now have to be a group of three and a group of two, because someone still needs to stay and guard the Cornucopia.

"If you two have dried off, why don't one of you stay and guard while I go with the other to do a bit more hunting. I'm getting bored." Marcel suggests.

Delphinia glances over at Seth, quirking an eyebrow. He gives her a disgusted snort. "Fine, I'll stay."

"Thanks, Seth." Delphinia replies, sickly sweet.

The only good thing about those two disliking each other so much is that they can't be used as leverage against each other and they won't be emotionally compromised when the other one dies. (I didn't even like Ajax that much, but- No. I'm not getting stuck in one of these thought spirals again.)

I think I'm due for some anti-anxiety pills again. I check the time. Another half an hour and I can take another dose.

Delphinia seems to have developed a thing for Marcel. He is attractive, no denying that, and is charming. But they are in the arena. Keep your enemies close and all, but she might be taking that too far.

Delphinia and Seth get dressed. Axe in hand, Delphinia sets off with Marcel while Seth paces around the brazier.

Basalt gets up from his console and walks over, putting a hand on the back of my chair. "You sure about those split lines?"

He sounds irritated. I smirk at him. "No." Then I soften my expression because this was not planned. "I tell all of mine to stay away from the charmers. Delphinia is just a bad listener. The only thing in her pants I hope she's thinking with is the knife tucked into her waistband."

* * *

**Ike Meadows**  
**District 12, Male Tribute**

There had been a cannon shot in the morning but the rest of the day was calm. No more cannon shots. No snow even. The Gamemakers must have gotten their entertainment, and with the Games being set up to be a long one, we're allowed something like peace.

The cut on my ribs from the scuffle I had in the Bloodbath has scabbed over. Every time I twist through, it cracks again, which hurts and bleeds a bit. Luckily the wound hasn't gotten infected. I keep my jacket zipped up, which largely shields the wound from outside things like dirt and leaves, and I wash it off with water when I can. Actual medical supplies, like bandages or some antibiotic ointment would be nice, but those are expensive. I've been trying to look out for any useful medical plants but have yet to find any.

With the stream we found near our clearing overhang, only a twenty minute walk away, we've decided to stay around for a few days. There's plenty of squirrels to be lured with nuts around here too, and a rabbit got caught in one of my traps.

Night falls and the anthem begins.

The seal appears. I wait in morbid apprehension to see whose portrait will replace it.

Marmot. It is Marmot's portrait that hovers in the sky. I was thinking it would be one of the tributes from District 9, or the girl from 11 maybe. Not Marmot of all people.

Next to me, Burl swears under his breath, some oath about trees I've never heard in 12 before. Marmot might have joined the Career Pack, but she was still Burl's District partner.

Sally is the only one of us left with a living District partner. Kitta died in the bloodbath, Argon died yesterday, and now Marmot is dead.

The seal of Panem replaces Marmot's portrait and the anthem plays again before the sky goes back to dark.

Burl kicks the ground and snorts in frustration. "They probably killed her. Got bored or something."

I cannot help but agree with him. Careers are vicious and it would be far from the first time they killed a tribute from one of the outer Districts they allowed to join the Pack. It reason could be anything from boredom to her failing to guard the Cornucopia from a thieving tribute.

Burl kicks the ground again. "I'll take first watch. Everyone else get some sleep."

Cord and Sally retreat into the shelter. I linger outside.

"You going to be okay?" I ask Burl, worried about him.

He shrugs and folds his arms, looking out into the woods to the west where the Cornucopia is. "Why didn't she join us?"

I'm not sure if it's a rhetorical question or not. I answer it on the off chance it isn't. "Better supplies. Stronger allies. Maybe she thought she could be a vicious as them if push came to shove."

"I guess." Burl says tersely.

Okay, maybe that was a rhetorical question.

Burl says nothing else. I don't know anything I can say that will make him feel better so I just head inside the shelter to get some sleep. We'll start a fire and cook the rabbit later tonight, when the night will obscure the smoke and we can hide the light in the back of the overhang.

I fall asleep looking forward to the taste of roasted rabbit. It will be charred, inevitably, but I can fantasize about it being nicely roasted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My chapter buffer has run out and college finals are looming so updates are going to start becoming a bit more sporadic but rest assured I won't be dead.  
> Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favor.


	9. Chapter 9

**Day 5**

**Ike Meadows**   
**District 12, Male Tribute**

The stream dried up overnight. We all stand at the banks, mostly empty canteens in hand. I set course upstream. Leading the way, I hope that maybe we can find the spring that the water is coming from or whatever might be blocking it. That assumes the Gamemakers don't have the equivalent of a tap they can turn on and off. Which seems a rather likely case.

The further up in the mountains we get, the further from the tree line and cover we get. Around some of the steeper parts, there are actual steps carved into the stone. That makes it easy to navigate. The ease is troubling in its own way and I try to look for signs that there might be traps around, set up by the Gamemakers or other tributes. The stream bed is dry all the way up. There is no reason for it to be dry other than the Gamemakers since there’s not even any trees up here to drop their branches into the stream and block it.

I start looking around more. Way to the north is a glacier. Technically, there's plenty of fresh water there in the form of snow and ice. Down to the west is the lake and at its southern point is the Cornucopia, gleaming in the sun.

The Gamemakers want us to go one place or the other. The only reason to take away our easy source of water is to make us go to a more dangerous place to get it.

We need a strategy. I come up with the simplest plan I can think of that covers the basics. "We should split up. Sally and Burl, you can go back to the lake and try to get some water there as long as only one person is guarding the Cornucopia. Cord and I will look for another stream. We'll meet back at the shelter by nightfall."

"Why are we splitting up?" Cord questions, her tone conveying the fact she thinks I'm a moron.

I don't take it personally. That seems to just be her general opinion of people. It only emphasizes how immature she is. She turned thirteen just two weeks before the Reaping. I feel bad for her. 

I explain my thought process. "I know it's not ideal but there's no point in all of us going to the lake. The more of us down there, the more likely we'll be caught. Besides, this might only be this stream that has gone dry so we should check out the other ones."

No one argues with me. Cord glares and mutters something under her breath but again, that's something not uncommon from her.

We all hand our canteens to Sally, because she'll be the one actually getting the water. Tonight, we will have to figure out a more permanent solution than raiding the lake. But we need water first before we can make plans.

Sally shoulders the canteens and says, "Well, see you tonight, then."

Burl and Sally head back into the woods. I really hope I do see them again tonight.

"So, which way?" Cord asks.

I look to the north, where the glacier is, and to the south, where's there's just more woods. Neither decision seems to be a particularly strong option, good or bad. We have been heading north at a slow pace the whole time, but haven't really made a push of it. There could be supplies and stuff hidden up there, or we could just freeze to death or get buried by an avalanche or something. I wonder if we lured the Career Pack to the glacier, we could maybe set off an avalanche on purpose and bury them. Something to consider.

My decision winds up being rather arbitrary. "Let's go south. We know a bit more of what to expect that way."

We have never been this high in the mountains before, so it does provide a different view. It could be pretty, even, if this was not an arena full of deathtraps and people out to kill me.

I focus on looking for the glint of sunlight on water. Plenty of glinting occurs, but most is from bits of pretty rock. Quartz inclusions mainly. Also the occasional beetle carapace glints. I try to avoid the beetles since I do not recognize any of them from the bug list from training, which might mean they’re mutts.

Cord trudges beside me, kicking rocks and generally making a racket. I know I can outrun her if I need to. Which seems kind of likely with how much noise she is making. Most of the kicks cause little rockslides. I start to worry that the Careers might be able to see us up high on the mountain. The rocks glint and between that and the movement, our passage might be seen from the Cornucopia.

I try to move us closer to the tree line. Cord at least trudges along beside me without comment.

It starts to get warmer as the morning turns to day. I tie my jacket around my waist and roll up the sleeves of my shirt. I swear the sun beats down even hotter in response. Can the Gamemakers control the amount of light in the arena? I bet they can sine they can control the weather. The heat is only making me thirstier and more desperate to find water.

I stop to sit on a boulder, checking for bugs first, and unzip the zipper around my knees to turn my pants into shorts. I stuff one pant bottom into my pack and sling the other around my neck for shade. It’s too bad I don’t have a hat, which would be nice.

Cord just ties her jacket around her waist. "We haven't found anything yet."

"I know. The Gamemakers might have turned the streams off, or something." I admit. "But we need to keep looking."

"Why didn't we go north to the glacier? We know there's water there. Even if it's ice."

Oh, now she brings it up. At least she's actually thinking about these things. "I thought about that. But I'm worried about avalanches or mutts or freezing to death up there. If Sally and Burl come back empty handed and we don't find anything, the glacier will be our next best option."

"Okay. That actually does make sense." Cord nods and her tone is not condescending at all.

I guess I explained myself adequately to her for once. I'm glad we're getting along. We are allies for now and are on the same side.

We start walking again. Cord adds on, "You're not quite as much of an idiot as I thought you were."

"Thanks?" I answer. That's a real backhanded compliment.

"That came out wrong." I hear Cord murmur, though she does not speak up to actually apologize.

"Come on." I try to move past it. "We're near camp again. Let's explore the woods nearby, it'll be cooler there."

Cord stops trudging so much and walks quickly beside me. Guess that was another good idea.

Crossing the tree line into the shade is instantly much cooler. There are some bright blue lizards sitting in spots of sun. We avoid them. Nothing that bright can be safe in the arena. Or anytime, really.

"Hey, wait." Cord says, coming to a stop. "What if we followed an animal to water? I mean, they're thirsty too."

That is actually a great idea. I wish I'd have thought of that earlier. I don't think Cord's ego needs to be inflated at all though, so I try to be a bit nonchalant about it. "That beats wandering around aimlessly. What should we follow?"

"A squirrel, I guess. Or a deer, if we see one of those. Just not one of those creepy lizards."

We set out in search of a search of something that is not a creepy lizard.

There are not many paths in this part of the woods, so we keep the tree line in sight for orientation. I find a mouse but it just runs and hides in a thicket of grass, so we can't follow it. A little bit later, Cord spots a rabbit, but it runs and hides, too.

The problems with trying to follow animals, other than them running, is that they probably just aren't that thirsty yet. The streams dried up just sometime last night. All I can really do is guess that is the cause. I haven't really seen that many live animals other than Daisy's goats, the odd stay cat, a couple of rats, and some squirrels in the woods outside the fence.

The higher the sun gets in the sky, the hotter it gets, even under the trees. I think it is around 10 or 11. I never had to worry about keeping close track of the time with the sun before other than knowing it is noon and time for lunch.

I think the lizards are following us. Another one is sitting on a nearby rock. We've gotten pretty far from where we first entered the woods again and saw the lizards.

I don't say anything to Cord. If I do, that would let the Gamemakers know I've noticed, and that make them decide to have the lizards attack or something.

The lizards follow us and other animals run from us and we find no water. By noon, we are hot and exhausted and getting pretty dehydrated. Cord and I sit at the base of a large tree. I check my pack for food but find only things that are dry and have a high salt content. That's not good. That food will only dehydrate us further. So we're going to be overheated, dehydrated, and hungry.

Cord nudges me and asks, "Do you have anything that isn't salty?"

I shake my head and show her my pack. "Nope. Take it you don't either?"

"No. Didn't you do really well at the plant stuff in training? Maybe you could find us something to eat."

"I'll try. Let's keep going, then."

We move deeper into the woods where there is more shade. I watch for animals and edible plants now.

* * *

I'd guess it is around three when we start to give up and turn around to make our way back towards our camp. There has been the evidence of water, dried up ponds and streambeds. I did find a few berries but some animal had gotten to them first and there were only two small handfuls left that I split with Cord.

The paths in this part of the woods take us most of the way to camp. There is still one lizard following us. I wish I knew what the Gamemakers' plans with the lizards are. When we are off the paths entirely and there are no more rocks around, the lizard leaves us. Maybe the lizards guard the rocky areas and the paths. It takes a few hours to get back to our camp. Nothing looks disturbed in the immediate area, so I don't think anyone found it while we were gone.

Cord sits down to work on her lantern taser thing. I go to check all of the traps. It looks like wind knocked a couple over so I reset those ones. The bait is missing from another one. Those squirrels are getting smarter.

In one of the last traps in my circuit, I find a grousling. The neck snapped cleanly. I untangle the bird from the twine. I set it to the side and reset the trap. This one is in a good spot then. I throw down a couple nuts from my rations as bait.

I triumphantly carry the grousling back to camp. Cord smiles. "Awesome. We can cook it once Sally and Burl get back."

I put the grousling in the fork of one of the trees to keep it safe from scavengers and bugs on the ground. I sit against a tree and watch Cord work for a while.

The sun dips lower, having disappeared behind the mountains, and there is still no sign of Sally and Burl. There have been no cannon shots today, either, so they're still alive. The Careers could have treed them or forced them into hiding or... something. The Gamemakers might have sent mutts after them or they got caught in a trap. I hate not knowing.

I'm still thirsty and I'm nervous but I don't want to waste energy pacing but I also don't want to conserve energy by sleeping in case something bad happens and I can’t respond to it in time. I just sit at the entrance of the cave feeling restless. I would almost think I'm bored but it feels wrong to think I'm bored when I'm a tribute in the Hunger Games.

There is nothing productive I can do for the moment. All the traps are set and I even butchered the grousling I got, as gross as that was to do. There's no point in risking a fire to cook it, especially when Sally and Burl aren't back yet.

At least Cord has something productive to do. She's turned the lantern into some kind of cattle-prod-taser-thing that produces arcs of electricity across a couple of wires whenever she pushes the "on" button. Using one of the socks she had in her pack, she's making a more comfortable handle for it by winding strips of cloth over the wires and other pointy bits.

A cannon shot shatters the silence. I jump to my feet. I look to the horizon. I’ve watched Careers look for hovercraft in previous Games. They use it to track the movement of other tributes if a death occurs when they’re not around.

Being near the edge of the arena and high up makes it easier to search. I spot some movement to the north of the lake. For just a moment, a hovercraft is visible above the tree line before going into stealth mode again.

“D-do you think that was them?” Cord asks, sounding upset.

I shake my head and try to sound confident and optimistic. “I saw the hovercraft to the north, nearer the glacier. They wouldn’t go that way. And there would probably be another cannon shot by now if the Careers caught them.”

I force myself to sit back down. Cord does not look convinced. She sits down across from me in the mouth of the cave. She pulls at a loose thread on the sock wrapping.

The sun continues to lower. Cord watches the sunset for a minute, then says, “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

I agree with her. Seeing who the portrait belongs to will tell us a lot about Sally and Burl’s fates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive!  
> Tentatively planning on updates every other week.


	10. Chapter 10

**Day 6**

**Ike Meadows**  
**District 12, Male Tribute**

We wait for the announcement of the dead with increasing anxiety. The anthem begins and the seal appears in the sky. The seal is replaced by a portrait. It's the girl from District 11.

I let out a sigh of relief. Then feel guilty about it. I should not be relieved that someone is dead. But I am, both that the dead tribute is not Sally or Burl and that she's one less tribute in the arena.

Rain. That was her name. The seal replaces Rain's portrait, the anthem plays again, and the sky fades to night.

I look over to Cord. "Get some sleep. I'll wake you up if anything happens."

Cord nods and curls up on her bedroll across from me.

I occupy myself by going over who is left in the arena. Sixteen tributes are left. All the Careers are still alive. Marmot was in the Pack, but didn't really count as a Career. My allies are all alive. That makes six other tributes are left.

Sally's District partner is still alive. So are both the tributes from 9. Hannah is alive, too. I have no idea what could have happened to her. I hope we run into her again and can get her to join up with the alliance. There's the boy from District 10, Antonio. The last one is the boy from 5, I think.

The Careers are obviously the biggest threat, and right after them is Antonio. Hannah is still a potential ally. The two from District 9 might team up if they run into each other. If we could talk them into an alliance, we could even take on the Careers. Overwhelm the guard and destroy the Cornucopia.

With a good enough distraction, we could maybe even do that with just the four of us. Especially now that Cord has made her taser thing. When was the last time something like that happened? A decade at least, most non-Career alliance aren't big and don't last long. And those that do last aren't crazy enough to go after the Cornucopia.

The sound of a branch snapping makes me jump to my feet. Cord still sleeps opposite me so it's not her moving around outside. I readjust my grip on my rock because it's the only weapon I have with me other than my fists.

I head into the open. Burl emerges through the trees. Sally is right behind him. I wake Cord with a quick exclamation of, "They're back."

I run over to greet them, visually checking if either of them are obviously injured. Burl limps and Sally is clutching the canteens to her chest. She flashes me a lopsided grin. "I really hope you found water."

I have to shake my head. "No. We'll probably have to go to the glacier. What happened to you two?"

Burl flops down in front of the entrance to our shallow cave. "Careers nearly spotted us. We hid in the trees. Five of them were looking for us. Could only get away when the girl from 11 ran by and they chased after her. That didn't go well for her."

"Burl fell getting out of the tree." Sally adds on by way of explaining Burl's limp.

"That because you were in my way." He snaps back.

It's good to have them back.

Sally hands Cord and I our canteens. I make sure to drink slowly. I know if I drink too fast, I'll make myself sick, no matter how thirsty I am.

The water makes me feel way better. "We'll figure out our next move in the morning. Everyone get some sleep, I can keep watch for the night.""

No one protests.

Everyone else curls up together on their bedrolls deeper in the shallow cave and I remain on guard outside. I should get some sleep but this will not be the first all-nighter I've pulled.

* * *

Nothing happens during the night. Dawn arrives uneventfully. I focus on looking between the most obvious paths up here and listening for movement.

Sally joins me outside. "Sorry if we worried you."

I laugh and keep watch on the woods. "Just glad you're back safe. Once everyone is up and we've eaten, we might have to move camp and head to the glacier. The Careers will be watching the lake more closely now."

"Won't argue with that. Do you want to get some sleep? I can keep watch for an hour or two."

Sally scoots closer to me. She leans against me. I thought she had given up on the romance angle thing. I don't know if I should try to move away or stay put. It is warm next to her.

"I'll just wind up more tired if I try to get any sleep right now. Thanks, though." I struggle to think of an excuse to get up. "I should check the traps and take them down if we're going to leave. I'll go do that and you keep watch here."

I extract myself from Sally and head out before she can counter that.

Going back and forth between the traps so much has worn little paths between them. It really will be a good thing to move camps then. The Careers can follow paths like that. Lynn did.

I reach the first trap and find it empty. I untie the twine from around the bent sapling. I wind it up in a little ball and shove it in my pack.

The bait had been eaten. The surviving animals in this part of the woods must be the smart ones. I hope the same can be said for tributes. That the smart ones survive. I know I'm one of the smart ones. That's the only thing I have going for me.

The next trap is also empty. I break it down and put the twine in my pack in a neat ball next to the other one.

It starts to drizzle. Because of course it does. The Gamemakers enjoy torturing us. This way we can get some water at least without having to go to the glacier.

Why would the Gamemakers not want us to go there, though? I'm sure it would be plenty dramatic. This does make things slow down if we don't go there. I thought the games would be drawn out based on the equipment given to us. We are at the final sixteen and it hasn't even been a week.

I wrap up another ball of twine and place it in my back along with the uneaten bait. I move on to the next trap.

A squirrel struggles in this trap. The rock broke its spine and has kept it pinned, but it still scrabbles at the ground with its front legs. I've seen Burl snap several squirrels' necks at this point, so I know the technique. It's the best thing to do. The kindest thing, ending the squirrel's suffering. I grab it and avoid being bitten. The squirrel thrashes until I twist and feel the bones break beneath my fingers.

My stomach lurches. I don't think I'll be able to eat this one.

The drizzling intensifies to proper rain. I should head back just so I don't get lost, now the landmarks are harder to see through the mist. There is one more trap left but it just is a rock propped up by a stick, with no twine to recover. I can leave that one.

I take the twine from this trap and carry the squirrel back to camp. Burl is awake and outside now. I pass the squirrel to him so he can prepare it for later.

Cord and Sally are shoving a couple of branches in position to form a channel of sorts. They are trying to direct a stream of water into an open canteen propped up in the rocks outside of the cave. I lend a hand and between the three of us, we get the stream to flow into the canteen. Since it's rain water, we don't even have to filter it or use the iodine tablets.

We're going to stay put for now. If the Gamemakers want us to wait to go to the glacier, I'm not about to go against what they want.

* * *

**Lynn Rayna**  
**District 4**  
**Victor of the 87th Hunger Games, Mentor of Delphinia Tyde**

The mix of rain and sleet covering the arena shows no signs of letting up. I have begun to understand why the weather Gamemakers had been so excited. Their task this year has been setting the pacing of the Games. Tributes always care about the weather, and so do their mentors, but the particular mood setting and emphasis by the commenters has engaged the Capitol audience as well.

Delphinia and Marcel have been exchanging more glances. They have not been hiding the bedroom eyes, but the planning glances have gone unnoticed. Both have been slipping extra supplies into their own packs as well as each other's.

The current weather makes for the best cover for their break from the pack. I disagree with their decision to leave the pack so soon. I broke away earlier than this, but I made a point to leave a goodbye present in the form of a raging inferno in my wake. They have discussed no such plans of sabotage. 

I sent Delphinia the stop signal gift after she'd spoken to Marcel about breaking away two days back. She has proceeded to ignore me. I had been worried that something like that would happen when I let her into my Polis. The problem is that we're friends and sometimes that means she views me more as an equal than as her mentor. (Luke told me it would happened. I didn't believe him. I should have.)

Both Marcel and Delphinia volunteer to go patrol the lake banks. There have been several outlier tributes spotted getting water from the lake. The pack successfully got the girl from District 11 yesterday. The lake appears to be the only remaining source of clean water other than precipitation or the glacier after all the streams dried up yesterday.

With the sleet, a tribute coming down for a drink is unlikely, but the cover works. They go along separate directions, Delphinia walking along the western bank and Marcel taking the eastern bank.

Delphinia's sponsorship total is comfortable for the stage of the games but I hate wasting sponsorship money on a message that will, in all likelihood, be ignored. I risk sending her one last, silent plea to stop. If she does not heed my advice, at least she will have some more supplies.

The sponsor gift of a packet of beef jerky is approved as the three others have been.

The silver parachute drifts down to her. She catches it and retreats to the tree line to check the container, her back protected by a tree trunk. Opening the container, she removes the packet of jerky. Her eyes flick between a few logical camera placements. Her eyes settle on a camera, placed low and at an angle the sun glints off the lens. Our eyes seem to lock.

_Please, Delph. Listen to me for just this once. You don't know what you're doing._

She does not say anything. She puts the jerky and the silver canister in her pack, next to the others. Shouldering her pack, she continues down the bank of the lake.

Delphinia has without a doubt made her choice. All I can do is try and keep her alive any way that I can. Athena guide me.

The two soon to be rogue careers meet at the north point of the lake. Delphinia turns and gives the distant Cornucopia a mock salute with her axe. "See ya, suckers."

With that, they head into the woods and leave the pack behind. The consoles automatically disengage, individual and alliance totals changing as the pack breaks. Midas sits stoically next to me.

The consoles lock into their new positions. There is a new tension in the room. No one says anything. The break has been anticipated and Neith at least knows I did not plan it with Delphinia. As for the other career mentors, I try not to care about their opinions for the moment.

After fifteen minutes at a steady jog, Delphinia and Marcel come to a halt under an overhang. They curl up together and go over the contents of their packs. They packed well, I'll give them that. Plenty of medical supplies, light weight food, extra clothing, and a spare bedroll.

Marcel suddenly leans over and kisses Delphinia. 

Delphinia deepens the kiss, tangling her fingers in Marcel's hair. Her free hand goes to the knife at his waist. He catches her wrist. They remain like for an awkwardly long time.

It is a viable strategy. Sexuality gets sponsorships. Trying to kill another career also gets sponsorships. I just never thought that combination would be the one Delphinia would try for and I wish she had told me. She would have been styled differently and given a different angle for the interviews if I had known that was her strategy. Better yet, I might have been able to talk her out of the whole deal.

The kiss breaks. Delphinia gets up and saunters off, calling over her shoulder, "You're not as stupid as I thought, handsome."

"Glad I impress you, gorgeous." He replies.

Marcel trails a few paces behind Delphinia, obviously staring at her ass.

The pair continues onward, staying off the paths and moving through the thickest parts of the woods. They have enough sense between them to cover their tracks. They seem to be heading to the glacier.

Between them, they have enough supplies for five days without rationing and Delphinia is rather good with edible plants. There is enough sponsor money to feed them for several more days if necessary baring any major upsets.

Heading to the glacier is a fine move, discounting everything else about their actions.

The sleet intensifies, mixed with bits of hail. The trees protect them for the most part but they would be wise to seek better shelter.

There are plenty of hollows, overhangs, and shallow hills in the mountainside. I check the location of the next nearest tribute to their position. It's Antonio, but he is far to the west and I doubt the three will encounter each other any time soon.

Delphinia and Marcel find a shallow cave. They take off their jackets, which have been soaked though and will be doing nothing to keep them warm. They keep shedding clothing, even though the under layers are dry.

That doesn't make sense. Neither of them are nearly cold enough to be suffering from the paradoxical undressing phase of hypothermia.

Delphinia straddles Marcel. Please don't tell me the two of them are that stupid.

The video feed turns from public, to private. It takes a moment before the viewer number starts to creep up as Capitol citizens buy passes to see the show.

An alert beeps as Delphinia's heartrate increases. That would normally indicate she's entering combat or running from something. Not that she's, uh… That's she's having sex in the arena.

_Aphrodite, I will sacrifice to you five yearling goats and a dozen fine geese to you upon my return to District 4 if you put a stop to this madness._

_Please._

There are some rather large sponsorships coming in. It makes up for the loss of some of the pack sponsorships. But those are the worse sponsors to deal with. The only good thing is that there will be no envelopes for me because I'm the only District 4 mentor for this alliance and they can't take me away from the consoles for extended periods.

Midas races over, no doubt drawn by the alarms now going off increasing frequency.

"They're physically alright. Don't look at the screen." I warn Midas.

"What do you-" Midas starts but cuts himself off with a spluttering, choking noise.

I glance over at him. The look of horror on his face would be rather hilarious under other circumstances.

I give him an offer. "There's a bottle of Blue Swan in my room. You can have it."

Midas practically runs out of the room. Can't blame him. I did not think Marcel being in the arena could get any worse for him until there were mutts or something. Guess I was wrong.

I take out my eye. The action had originally been a joke. Xanthos takes off his leg if he does not want to go somewhere. I take out my eye if I want to not look at something.

I really do not want to look at this.

I keep my real eye on Delphinia's vital signs and don't look at anything else. Her heartrate is still elevated.

Yeah. This is happening.

I had never anticipated something like this occurring. I like to plan things in advance. I like to work out odds and plan contingencies. This has completely blindsided me.

Could the pits of Tartarus just open up and swallow me right now?


	11. Chapter 11

**Day 7**

**Jay Wolfshiem**  
**Capitol Citizen**  
**"Professional Gambler"**

I do realize that Priscilla is busy but we are family and she should be able to make time for me. We have vital things to discuss.

The first week is drawing to its close and no distinct forerunners have emerged among the tributes. I have quite a considerable sum of money riding on Ike Meadows reaching the next few brackets and would not mind if he occupied the forerunner spot.

It's something for Priscilla to keep in mind as the Games progress.

My phone chirps. It's another text from Sarah. That woman is insufferable. She always wants to know where I am and what I'm doing and who I'm with. As if I'd tell her any of that. She's my wife, not my mother.

I still wish I had managed to marry her sister. The fair Khaleesi. What a prize she would have been. She is far too good for the likes of Agrippa Kharga.

The door to my private room opens and I expect it to be an Avox coming with another whiskey. To my pleasant surprise the Avox brings both whiskey and my dear sister. Pricilla has a coffee in hand. This is a bar, you're supposed to drink in a bar. But she "doesn't drink while working." The problem is that she's always working and accordingly never drinks.

"Hello, big sister." I rise to give her a hug.

I do love my sister even if she is a workaholic stick in the mud.

"Hello, Jay." Pricilla actually hugs me back.

Something has her in a good mood. That's a miracle.

We sit down and I wave the Avox away. Pricilla sips her coffee and looks at me over the rim. She sets down her thermos and folds her hands in front of her. "So, do you want to start with family small talk or should we just get down to business?"

"Do you even know how to socialize?" It's a rhetorical question, since the answer is obviously no. I continue before Pricilla can retort. "Business right away works fine. Well, it's not even proper business, more like commentary. I've just found it rather interesting there's no real forerunner yet."

Pricilla attempts to stare me down but that technique hasn't worked on me since I was ten and realized that she could not actually read my mind. "Jay, you know I can't discuss my work. Especially in the context I know you want me to."

Am I really being that transparent? No way.

"I'm just saying. The pack splitting the way it did caused quite the stir. Do you think it's leaning more toward an underdog year, then? Ike Meadows could be quite the standout."

Pricilla rolls her eyes at me. That means I'm having an effect. She might just agree to get me to shut up. That's the best part about being an annoying little brother and embracing that role.

"Jay, I'm serious. I want no conflicts of interest going on. I don't want to know who you've even sponsored, let alone bet on."

"We both know you can just look up that information. There's records on all Game transactions, even if they don't show up on any of the published lists." I point out helpfully. "You know I like a good underdog, though. Always a great payout. Even just reaching the final eight. I'm not the only person in Panem who's rooting for Ike Meadows."

Pricilla's phone rings. I know it has to be her phone because it's the default ringtone. No one keeps the default. Except Pricilla. She answers it, rude, and stand up, also rude. She is always so rude. I need another whiskey.

"Look, Jay, we never had this conversation, alright. I need to go. It looks like the pack is actually going to find Sean." Pricilla runs off with her coffee, leaving me behind.

Isn't that just the story of our lives?

Well, I'm glad I didn't bet on Sean. Never really liked the tributes from District 5. I've yet to find one that's interesting.

What matters is that I've gotten the thought in Pricilla's head. All I need is for Ike Meadows to reach the final eight bracket, and I'm debt free. If he makes it further, then I'm rich. 

Pricilla just needs to make that happen. And she's the Head Gamemaker, so I know she can.

I press the bell on the table and order another whiskey.

* * *

**Day 8**

**Ike Meadows**  
**District 12, Male Tribute**

It still drizzles, a steady source of water, which is really nice. On the other hand, it has forced the animals into hiding and now the main concern is food. Shelter has been difficult as well, since our little cave flooded. We're not quite to the glacier, yet, but we'll probably make it there tomorrow if we really try to. Most of our travel has been trying to stay close enough to the lake to keep an eye on the Career's movements while trying to make sure they don't notice us watching them. Sally and Burl have been in charge of that. Cord and I have been scouting ahead and looking for shelter as well as collecting rainwater.

Yesterday was eventful somewhere where we weren't. Two cannons went off. That's put us at the final fourteen now. It was the boy from District 5 and Hannah that died. That leaves no more good potential allies in the arena. I have the bad feeling that in the end, it will be the Career Pack and our alliance as the only ones left.

Sally spotted what looked like a cabin on the glacier. I think it might just be a rock, but I'll be optimistic that it is a cabin to start with. Assuming that it is a cabin, it could go two ways. It could be full of supplies and be a safe place to rest for a while. Or it could be full of mutts.

We never checked the cabins by the lake shore, but one had an open door with a few supplies strewn around it. The fact the supplies were just sitting there was a bad sign.

To expand our search area, we've spread out in a loose line. A fifteen-minute walk back, there's a large tree that might just have to do for the night. This part of the arena is steeper, so there's less shallow caves to hide out in and the few overhangs we've seen have not been big enough for even three of us.

Some of the rocks looks a bit like they've fallen recently, with plants torn up around them. I have to wonder if the Gamemakers are making some of the rocks fall to get rid of hiding spots.

There's movement ahead of us. Human movement. My distance vision isn't the best and the tribute is a good twenty feet away. But I think it's Tom. He stops, swaying on his feet, looking back at something. Then he starts running, away from us, fortunately.

Sally runs over to me, grabs me by the arm, and starts dragging me away from where Tom had been running from.

"We should go. We should really go. There's no helping him." She urges.

We reach Burl and Cord.

There's a whoop that cuts through the air. That means a Career is nearby. That's why Tom ran. Through the distant trees, two more figures. We all dive to the ground, sliding some ways down the steep slope. I hope the dust that rises does not give away our position.

Another whoop. I can hear the snap of twigs and crush of leaves.

"Come on!" That's Delphinia's voice. "He went this way."

More snapping twigs and crunching leaves.

"I'll head him off this way!" Comes Marcel's voice in reply, growing more distant.

Cord loudly whispers at Burl, "I thought you said all the Careers were at the Cornucopia!"

"I saw four of them out in the open. They only ever leave one guard." He replies.

He had scouted the Cornucopia from a tree top a couple hours ago. We thought we might have been able to take on a single guard to get the supplies to make it to the glacier easier. Burl told us that all the Careers had been at the Cornucopia.

"Well how did those two get all the way out here, then, huh?" Cord demands.

Her voice is only a whisper, but it feels too loud, knowing there's Careers not too far away. Especially since one of those Careers is Delphinia, and she's insane and terrifies me. I cover Cord's mouth with my hand and shush her. She glares at me. For a moment, I think she might bite my hand. Mark does that whenever I cover his mouth.

Cord does not bite me. I uncover her mouth. I keep my voice as quiet as I can. "That doesn't matter. We need to keep moving and hope they don't notice us."

Burl shakes his head. "They might notice us moving."

"They might notice us lying here." I retort and rise to a crouch.

I can't hear the Careers hunting Tom anymore. They must be too far away at this point. Heading directly where the Careers came from won't work, since they might have a little camp out there or something, since it appears they hadn't been at the Cornucopia earlier. Perpendicular to the action seems like the best way to go.

I set off at a run, wanting to put distance between myself and the Careers. It also forces my allies to follow without arguing too much. Burl tells me to slow down a couple times, and I do once I realize it is because Cord was having trouble keeping up.

Yesterday was nice, nothing interesting happened to us. The drizzle starts to turn into little snowflakes instead. Even better.

A cannon fires. That means Tom is dead.

The wind and snow is at our backs, pushing us forward. No weather is random in the arena. I have no idea what the Gamemakers want out of us with this.

We keep moving, slowed by the weather. Finding shelter is important as the temperature drops further. My breath comes out in puffs of mist. There are no obvious sounds of pursuit, so I think the Careers didn't spot us. The last thing I want is to run into Delphinia.

Icicles begin to form on tree branches. An ice-covered twig falls. That is a bad sign. Burl shouts from my left, "We need to find shelter, now!"

"There's nothing around." I shout back, frantically looking around in the hopes I'm wrong, "We'll have to dig a snow cave."

For obvious practical reasons, I did not get to practice making a snow cave during training, but I know about them. Back home, there have been some winters when we've walled off two sides of the house with snow, because the snow wasn't as bad as the drafts. Snow is a good insulator.

I tell everyone to get away from the trees as more ice-covered branches start falling. If the Gamemakers want us in the open, they've succeeded in doing that. We fine some large rocks and start digging out the snow around them. I can feel every hole and rip in my clothing as the snow soaks through each layer of clothing.

Scooping out enough of a hollow for Cord to fit in, she starts digging from the inside. It speeds up the work and soon Sally can fit inside as well. The rocks make up one side and Cord compacts the roof so the snow cave won't collapse in on us.

The wind howls. I swear there is something else mixed in, too. Something animalistic. I don't know what I'm praying to, but I pray they don't send mutts after us.

Armful after armful, we scoop away enough snow so Burl and I can fit into the snow cave as well. We half wall ourselves in, leaving just enough of a gap to still see the sky and for a place to start digging of the cave collapses in on us.

Due to the exertion, I feel warm. But that also means I started sweating and I'm about to feel really cold, really fast. The four of us huddle together. I shiver. Sally wraps her arms around me. I lean into the embrace because I would rather deal with having to reject romantic advances later than freeze to death right now.

The ground trembles and the snow intensifies to a blizzard. It is kind of concerning. Then I remind myself that the Gamemakers would never cause an avalanche to kill a whole alliance at once. They would never have a reason to do that, right?

Right?


	12. Chapter 12

**Day 9**

**Ike Meadows**  
**District 12, Male Tribute**

Snow blankets everything. A thick layer of clouds has made things even worse. Between the two, they have changed the landscape and made it all but impossible to orientate ourselves properly. Even the slopes of the valley all around us looked different and strange without their previous landmarks. Burl has helped Sally into a nearby tree so the two of them can try to figure out which way we should go to get to the cabin now.

We have enough food to last us two more days with a little bit of rationing. Right now I hope that between all of us, we'll have enough sponsors to get sent a little bit of food at least. Once the snow clears us, there will be animals to trap again. I am worried about food, but it isn't truly desperate yet.

The sound of a branch snapping jolts me into full alertness. Squinting through the glare of the snow, I try to pinpoint the source of the sound. Another snapping branch and I spot the approaching figure. I raise the alarm, "Someone is coming!"

Cord and I, being the ones on the ground, are the ones in the most danger. I'm armed with my rock. Cord has the taser thing. At least there's that.

The figure gets even closer. Her face is thin with hunger and her whole body shakes like a leaf. In spite of that, I actually manage to recognize her as Millet, from District 9.

She puts her hands up, still walking towards us.

"Please, help me." Her voice is thin and reedy, "I tried to drink some snow melt but it just made me sick. Do you have any water? I just need a drink, then I'll leave you alone."

I hesitate. I feel bad for her, but she's a tribute and not one of my allies.

Burl jumps down from his tree. He's got his knife and he points it at Millet.

"No." His voice cracks a little. He repeats, "No."

His voice is stronger but the tip of his knife wavers.

Millet's eyes go wide. She glances rapidly between Burl and me and Cord. Sally drops down from her tree, armed with a large stick, and Millet jumps. Her chest heaves. She's panicked but does not leave.

"P-please," she begs again, "I just need a sip of water."

I have half a mind to just give her my canteen so she can have her sip of water and leave us alone. But I know I shouldn't because she could just steal the canteen and be gone into the snowy woods. I back Burl up. "No, you need to leave."

There is a crunching noise. Boots on snow. Something hits Burl, making him stumble. A tribute is attacking us. Millet was just a distraction. The mess of dark curls and the fact the tribute had been traveling with Millet helps me recognize that it's Phil, her District Partner. 

There's a cry of pain and a flurry of movement as Burl and Phil fall to the ground. Snow being thrown up by the grapple obscures my vision. The white snow turns red. A grunt of pain. A scream and I know it's from Burl.

I have to help him but I don't know how to help. I'm not a fighter. I'm not even a good leader. But in the arena I have to be both.

I run the few steps to reach the grapple. I catch hold of the back of Phil's jacket and heave. I can't pull him off Burl. Someone's leg trips me and I fall to the ground along with the two of them.

It's cold and wet and I can't see well. I still have a hold of Phil's jacket. I pull again, trying to drag him away from Burl.

A cannon fires.

Phil struggles in my grip. The cannon was not his. That meant it had to be Burl's.

My gut twists at the realization. Tears string my eyes along with the cold. He killed Burl. He killed my friend.

I bring my rock down on Phil's head. He rolls, shoving me away from him. I tackle him back to the ground, straddling him. I bring my rock down on his face. He stabs me. I glance down at the knife sticking out of my thigh and the growing stain of blood spreading across my pants.

What am I doing? I'm not a fighter. I'm an idiot.

The cold and my fury numb the worst of the pain. I pull the knife out of my leg, since it's a better weapon than my rock, and I turn the blade on Phil. I stab him in the chest.

I keep on stabbing as he bucks and tries to throw me off. Phil pleads for me to let him go. He should have thought of that before he killed my friend. I keep stabbing until the cannon fires.

The sound snaps me out of whatever that just was. I get up and stumble backwards. My leg gives out and a plop back into the snow on my butt. Before me is just a muddy, red slush with two bodies lying in the middle of it.

"Ike?" Sally asks. She sounds scared.

Cord walks over to the bodies, hesitant, her movements jerky. She snatches Burl's canteen and his knife and toss them in the snow behind her. She tugs his backpack from underneath him and throws it in the same direction as the other things. She looks over at Phil's body, turns a bit green, and retreats. She brings Burl's things over to where I'm sitting in the snow.

Sally taps me on the shoulder and jumps back away from me. I look over at her. "Yeah?"

Sally gestures vaguely at me. "You've got... blood all over you."

Looking down at myself, I see she's right. I'm covered in blood. Some of the blood is oozing out of my leg but most of it is Phil's blood.

"Help him up." Cord tells Sally. "We need to make room for the hovercrafts."

Sally reluctantly helps me up. She has to support most of my weight as the pain in my leg makes it difficult to stand. We retreat back towards our snow cave near the rocks.

A pair of hovercrafts appear. They each grab a body and take them away.

Sally helps me sit down and dabs some blood off my face with the edge of her sleeve. She still seems nervous. It dawns on me that what's scaring her is me. I just killed someone. By Cord's reaction to Phil's body, and the fact I'm covered in his blood, it was really messy. I think when I get over the shock of it some more, I'll have reason to be scared of me, too. 

I grab a handful of snow and press it to the stab on my thigh. The cold helps with the pain and the pressure helps with the bleeding.

Something that is not snow glints in the sunlight. A silver parachute drifts down toward us. Cord catches it and opens it right away.

She lays out the contents. It is medical supplies. Antiseptic and a suture kit and bandages and some little tablets in a bottle labeled blood loss. I guess killing someone means I get sponsors.

With Phil's death, I think I might have killed two people now. There was the girl who I hit in the head at the Bloodbath. A Career might have finished her off, so I might not have actually killed her. Just left her for dead.

My leg throbs and it brings me back to more immediate concerns than the blood staining my hands. I look between Sally and Cord. "Can either of you sew?"

Cord is still pale and a bit green but she nods. "I repair all my own clothes."

I unzip the lower leg of my pants and pull up the fabric covering the stab wound. Cord grabs the bottle of antiseptic. Sally offers me the branch she's still holding. "Bit down on this."

I do as Sally says. Cord pours some of the antiseptic over the wound. It hurts more than the being stabbed part. I bite down on the branch as hard as I can, cracking the soft pine between my teeth. At least it muffles the scream.

Cord uses the lower half of my pant leg to wipe off the area around the stab wound. I know I probably shouldn't watch, but I can't look away. The flesh around the stab is all bruised looking from the trauma. I hope the knife wasn't poisoned or something. But if it was, an anti-venom would have been sent. I know it would have been. Our mentors wouldn't just send something to patch me up when I'd die anyways.

Cord threads the curved needle and just stares at me leg. She offers the needle to Sally, who shakes her head. "Nope. You said you could sew."

"I've never sewed up a leg before." Cord snaps at her.

"I've never sewn at all. You do it." Sally snaps back.

Around the branch still clenched between my teeth, I managed to say, "Just do it."

"Okay, okay." Cord relents, looking back at my leg.

After a few deep breath on both our parts, Cord starts sewing up my leg. The stitches start shaky, but are mostly straight and tight together midway through. She washes the wound off with a bit of antiseptic every few stitches, mainly to clear away the blood so she can see what she's doing.

I have no idea how long it takes for Cord to finish stitching up my leg. My jaw aches from biting the stick. When she's done, she wraps my leg in a bandage. I spit out bits of pine. 

I pick up the pill bottle. The only instructions are to take two every day. I take the pills with a swig of water and tuck the bottle into my jacket pocket.

Grabbing the bloodstained lower half of my pants, I zip the leg back up. Sally helps me stand. Cord carries Burl's things.

"Well," I start, not quite sure of what our next move should be. "Careers might still show up if they saw the hovercrafts. Let's keep going to the cabin. And Cord, try to cover up any trail we leave behind."

With Sally's help, I limp my way forward. Cord goes to the woods, grabs a branch with a few pine needles still on it. She follows behind, using the branch to brush away our tracks. It works for the most part, when I don't leave too much blood behind.

* * *

**Day 10**

**Christine Tiber**  
**Capitol Citizen**  
**Gamemaker, Muttation Design**

The Head Gamemaker, Priscilla Wolfshiem, has given my wolves the okay.

Finally, my debut on a legitimate stage. Underground fighting mutts are one thing. But now everyone will be able to see my skills on the greatest stage in all of Panem.

The wolves have been teased. They've been howling in the blizzard winds and stalking tributes from a distance. Now Pricilla will allow them to kill.

I have no idea who she will have them target but I do not care.

The Jabber Jay is still home. I came up with the idea for the wolves while here and it continues being an inspiration. If only I could get Khaleesi to tell me how she makes her dragons. But I do suppose if she wanted to see her dragons in the Games, she'd become a Gamemaker herself.

Khaleesi and Lynn are sitting together at a back table. It isn't in the VIP section, so I'm sure it will be alright if I go say hello.

Lynn spots me walking over immediately. She leans back in her seat, a wider smirk spreading across her face. Khaleesi turns to me as well. I reach the table.

Lynn greets me, "I'm surprised to see a Gamemaker out of Command. Suppose everyone needs a break sometimes."

Khaleesi is significantly friendlier, "Hello, Christine. It's nice to see you still have time for us. Have a seat."

I sit down next to Khaleesi. Lynn watches me closely, and it's rather unnerving. Some Victors, especially the ones that had training, are intimidating. She would never harm me, I know that. But if she chose to do so, consequences be damned, I know just how lethal she could be.

Lynn smirks again, giving a light snort of amusement, "I suppose I can't ask for any hints about what you've been working on, can I?"

No matter how much she intimidates me, I know I'm the one in control of the situation, not Lynn. "No. Besides, I wouldn't be much help anyways. The Head Gamemaker makes all final decisions."

"Pity." Lynn shrugs. "I'll get you a drink anyways. What will you have?"

"I'll have a daiquiri."

Lynn flags down a waiter and orders for me. Intimidating to friendly, she runs the gambit. I imagine she is rather effective with sponsors.

I know better than to tell mentors anything important. I've spoken with Lynn before, and after a drink perhaps said a bit too much. Some of the other junior Gamemakers and interns let actually important things slip, but I'm better than that. Those are the same ones that do not last very long. I plan on lasting quite a while.


	13. Chapter 13

**Day 11**

**Lynn Rayna**  
**District 4**  
**Victor of the 87th Hunger Games, Mentor of Delphinia Tyde**

Got a hypothermia death this morning. Millet of District 9. Down to the final ten. The audience has been getting restless. They've gotten some real excitement and natural deaths are always boring, hypothermia in particular. They'll be wanting something more by day's end.

No more envelopes for the past couple of days and there is plenty of strong coffee available. That means things are pretty good, by mentoring standards. I take another sip of my coffee. The newest couple poll results come up on my tablet. 

I check Delphinia and Marcel's ranking on the couple's poll.

They still occupy the dreaded number one position. 

I wish I could go into the arena and slap some sense into Delphinia. Top of the couple polls is not where she should be.

She also should not have her hands down Marcel's pants.

There are many downsides to Delphinia having a sexual relationship with Marcel. The inherent distraction is a distinct forerunner. However, the part that currently concerns me the most is that she is losing precious public airtime. The channel focused on her and Marcel goes private whenever anything explicit occurs. Capitol citizens can buy access to the channel, and typically will also sponsor the tributes as well. But the general audience cannot see them and that causes a decrease in popularity. That does effect both Delphinia and Marcel, so it could be worse.

I'm not sure how it could be worse, but I'm sure it somehow could be.

A blizzard has taken over the arena again. The pacing this year has bene irritatingly slow. The audience has had a positive reaction, however, so that's only encouraged the Gamemakers. 

A message comes up on my tablet. Another sponsorship. 20 solidi. I'm not complaining about that amount, no matter what it is from. I fill out the standard thank-you message template and send the reply.

Wait, with that sponsorship, there's enough to send Delphinia a sword. Lynn makes sure to hide any outward reaction but inwardly, she whoops in triumph. Delphinia is good with an axe, damn good, but with a sword in her hands, the arena won't know what hit it.

I select the best sword that I can get for the money. It is not perfectly made for Delphinia, but is right for her size and fighting style.

The approval does not go through immediately. With larger sponsor gifts, that can happen. And Delphinia is a touch too occupied to accept the gift at the moment. More than a touch.

By the depths of Tartarus, I am so sick of Delphinia's shit right now. Her and Marcel were occupied when two cannons went off the other day, when the boys from District 7 and District 9 got killed. They were less than a mile away, could have seen the hovercrafts if they'd been looking. Between the two of them, they could have taken out at least two more members of the outlier alliance, if not all three of them.

Ike and his two remaining allies have been making slow progress, but they've gotten over a day's travel ahead of Delphinia and Marcel, so they're safe as far as running into other tributes goes.

When Midas gets back, I might go meet with some of the gamblers. Normally I'd try to persuade them with the safe bet, but Delphinia is turning into a longshot. Bigger payout does at least work with some gamblers. I hate to be giving up on her even this little bit, but she's not giving me anything good to work with.

The sword is sent. Delphinia jumps up to catch it. She does it right at least, unsheathing the blade and thanking her sponsors.

I hope she gets the unspoken message along with the sword. This is what she should be doing. She is a career of District 4 and needs to fucking act like it.

Snow starts to fall harder. Delphinia and Marcel go on the mood, searching for better shelter. The way the winds buffet them and then a branch crashes to the ground in front of them, I can tell the Gamemakers are forcing their path. I've gotten good at spotting when Pricilla is being particularly forceful.

Midas arrives but I don't think I'll being going to visit the gamblers just yet.

The howling noise starts again, but it is louder than the previous times. They are going to release the wolf mutts they’ve been teasing at. Those must have been what that junior Gamemakers Christine was working on.

Delphinia and Marcel are forced into a clear. The main feed shows the location of all the other tributes. They are the only ones out in the open.

My heart sinks.

"Lynn, do you think they're going to…" Midas trails off, unable to voice the far we both have.

I nod.

The snow is whipped into a frenzy. The wolves appear at the edge of the clearing. They are the size of bears but even taller, walking on weirdly spindly legs. Delphinia and Marcel spot the wolves. They try to run, but are stopped by growls and flashing teeth.

The wolf mutts continue to circle, sticking to the fringes of the clearing. Delphinia and Marcel stand back to back, moving to the center. The wolf mutts are testing them, lunging and watching their reactions. Delphinia has her new sword in her right hand and her axe in her left. She was never the best at dual wielding, but given that at least seven mutts are circling her, she needs sheer force over finesse.

All I can do is watch. Midas sits next to me, holding onto his chair with a white-knuckled grip. I could not even watch Jason being attacked by the crocodile mutt. I had just curled up in a ball behind the couch and would not even get out for Xanthos. Midas is a braver soul than I, watching his brother.

A wolf mutt gets too close to Delphinia and she slashes it across the face with her axe. It bleeds and goes back to circling. Red stains the snow.

The wind and snow moves with the mutts, leaving the clearing also clear of snowfall. Every time a mutt darts forward, a drift of snow moves with it.

Marcel looses a throwing knife. It strikes one of the wolf mutts in the throat. The wolf mutt lets out an agonized howl. The snow around it turns bright red as it bleeds out. The rest of the pack circles closer and another mutt emerges from the storm to replace the felled one.

That's a really bad sign. That means the Gamemakers won't just let things finish quickly. Replacing mutts normally only happens when the Gamemakers want a tribute dead.

Another wolf mutt gets too close to Delphinia and she cuts its front leg off with a well-placed sword blow to the knee. (Elbow?)

The injured wolf mutt is not replaced. One of the wolf mutts charges Marcel. He catches it with a block, his forearms pushing on its chest. His boots sink into the snow as the weight bears down on him. Spittle flecks his face from the mutt's snapping jaws.

Marcel grapples with the wolf mutt. He drives the knife into its side again and again. The wolf mutt continues snapping at his throat. Its weight forces him to the ground. He tries to roll but the mutt has him pinned.

It goes for his throat again but he raises his arm. The maw closes around his left forearm instead. He screams and the wolf mutt shakes its head, tearing out a hunk of flesh. One of the wolf mutts that had been circling breaks away from the group and latches onto Marcel's leg. The mutts are tearing him apart, tugging him back and forth.

The rest of the mutts toy with Delph. They nip at her heels but do not draw much blood. All I can hope is that once Marcel is dead, the mutts will be called off.

The wolf mutt on top of Marcel tears another chunk off of his arm. It lunges again and this time its teeth close around his throat. There is a spray of blood as it tears out Marcels' throat. Alarms scream from Midas' console. Then they go quiet. The cannon fires.

Midas screams. There are no words. Just heartbreak.

I block it out, gripping my console, and wait for the wolf mutts to be called off. The Gamemakers got their kill. Dead mutts, a dead career, it should satisfy them. I got Delph a sword and she has no more distractions, she'll be entertaining, they have to keep her alive.

The wolf mutts remain. They go from toying with Delphinia to tearing out a chunk of her calf. Still they are not called off.

Delph is going to die. The Gamemakes have made their decision. All I can do is watch.

She fights. Her axe bites deep into the wolf mutts and her sword scores long gashes and deep stabs. One falls, nearly decapitated. The one that tore out Marcel's throat has collapsed as well. That still leaves three more uninjured. They circle, taking off bits as they can.

Delph cuts off another one's leg with her sword. It bleeds out in the snow. Two of them charge from the front. A third that had been hidden in the trees leaps on her back. Its fangs sink into her skull. Alarms blare. Delph thrashes, trying to throw it off. It clamps its jaws harder.

A wet crunch echoes in my ears. 

Delph's vitals flatline.

The cannon fires.

The wolf mutts disappear back into the storm, trailing red behind them. I can still hear the crunch. I can still hear Delph dying. Again and again and again I can hear the crunch of teeth puncturing her skull.

(Stop!) Commands the little voice in the back of my mind. I breathe in. Hold it till my lungs burn. Then let it out.

Two hovercrafts appear and take the bodies. Midas sobs. I take my headset off and set it on the table in front of me. I get up and go over to Neith. "I'm going to go make the call."

She places a hand on my arm before I can leave. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"No." I shake my head for emphasis. "When I get back, give me a list of sponsors in limbo and I'll start making calls. I'll need the distraction."

District 4 is not out of the running. We still have Seth. We can still do this and I need to do my part.

Neith lets me go. She's got pity in her eyes and I hate it. "Alright. Take the time to call Luke if you need to."

I just nod and leave the room. The crunch still rattles around in my skull. I make it over to the elevators and hit the button the fourth floor. The doors closing sound like the crunch. Breathe in. Hold it till it hurts. Breathe out.

The doors open back up and I step into the suit. I grab the phone. Collapsing into the nearest chair, I stare at the dial pad. They'll be at Luke's house. I punch in the number.

Luke answers. "Hello, Lynn."

"Are they there?" I ask, wanting to get this over with.

"Yes. You ready?"

"Are you ever?"

There is silence as Luke passes the phone over to one of Delph's parents.

"Lynn, hello," It's her dad, his voice choked, "Was she in pain?"

I lie a little bit. "The cold is numbing, so is adrenaline. The end was quick. She wouldn't have felt a thing."

"Thank you. You did all you could." He takes a shuttering breath and there is a long pause.

"Did..." It's her mom's voice on the phone now. She starts again, "Did Delphinia say anything about wanting to stay? Or is it okay if she comes home early?"

I really wish the families did not ask that. All volunteers that I've ever know have wanted their bodies to remain in the Capitol until the Games are over instead of being sent back home early. The funeral would never be held until the Games are over, but it makes for unquiet spirits, leaving unfinished business behind.

I answer honestly this time. "Delph wanted to stay. If there is anything you want to arrange at any time, in preparation for when she does get home, tell Hyacinth. He's watching my house right now. Luke can take you there."

"Can you think of anything she'd want?" Her mom asks.

"Her favorite flower is lilac. When we were out once, the branch of one got pulled back and wound up hitting Brine in the face. She said it was her favorite flower 'cause of that."

Her mom makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "Lilacs it is. Thank you."

She hangs up the phone.

I drop the phone and put my head in my hands. Breathe in. Breathe out. Lauren's parents had screamed at me, so it could have been worse. But I wish they had not thanked me. I got their daughter killed, they should not be thanking me.

Getting up, I wipe the tears from my eyes and set my shoulders. Seth is still alive. I can't let him down, too.

* * *

**Day 12**

**Lynn Rayna**  
**District 4**  
**Victor of the 87th Hunger Games, Mentor of Seth Nile**

I think I know where Christine will be. I tell the driver to take me to the Jabber Jay. (Don't be too angry.) The sensible part of my brain reminds me. My grief has turned angry, though, hot and bright. I like to think Delph would approve. She always did say an angry scowl suited me better than a smile.

Christine was just doing her job. I doubt she knew who the mutts would target. Otherwise it would have been highly foolish to approach Cassie and I the other day.

However, I did find out the fascinating fact that her brother was the one who cost me my eye. Her brother was Dr. Tiber. He's an Avox now.

The car arrives at the Jabber Jay. I leave my knife in the back seat, because I cannot trust my self-control at the moment, and tell the driver I won't be long.

At the bar, I order an absinthe. One of the regulars leads me to the back.

I wipe the makeup off my face, revealing my scar. I keep my eye in since I want to see this.

I find Christine with ease. She leans against the railings of the little arena. My movements are silent. (I have not lost my touch.) I lean against the railings next to her without her noticing.

"I'll give you the benefit of the doubt," I start, making her jump. I continue, turning to she can see the scar on my cheek, "That you truly did not know your mutts' targets."

"Oh, uh… I was n-not made aware." Christine stammers out before regaining her composure, "Are you threatening me?"

I laugh, because she actually thinks she's be worth the consequences of killing her. I'd love to see her dead, to spill her guts on the floor, but I do not hate her that much. "No, of course not. Why would I threaten you for just doing your job? Besides, I may be a Victor, but I'm still just a District citizen. It's not like I could do anything to you."

"Right. You just startled me and..." Christine has to regain her composure again. "Is there anything else?"

"Just a little favor, actually. Could you give your brother my regards? Tell him the prosthetic works." I savor the way Christine's eyes get even wider and press a little more. "The real one worked better, but I won't hold that against him any more than I'll hold the mutts against you."

"How do you know he's my brother?" Christine demands, not wavering this time.

"Because I'm a Victor and get paid in secrets. Wanted to know what happened to Dr. Tiber. I found out." I shrug. "I wonder what will happen to you. The audience isn't too pleased with how things turned out, especially all the heartbroken romantics. And they know you designed the mutts."

I leave her with that, slipping away into the crowd before she can respond. I don't need to threaten her, since the audience on the forms has been doing that plenty. I just like knowing that she will see the inevitable coming for her. A District citizen may not be able to do anything to her. A bunch of angry Capitol citizens, all against one member of a disgraced family, may be another story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting between Hurricane Harvey induced power outages.


	14. Chapter 14

**Day 12**

**Ike Meadows**   
**District 12, Male Tribute**

Delphinia is dead!

No more crazy Career trying to cut my head off. The other Careers might still try to cut my head off, but it won't be as intentional as Delphinia. Never thought I'd be so happy to know someone is dead.

Other than that, everything sucks.

My leg feels like it is on fire. Enough sponsorships for stitches but not enough for antibiotics. I just got lucky the cut on my ribs had not become infected. I've not been lucky with my leg. The wound is puffy and red and oozes pus and blood. It doesn't smell that bad, yet.

It stopped snowing but it is still cold since we've gotten over halfway to the cabin and are on the glacier now. The cold helps with the pain. When my leg gets really bad and there's ice or snow around, we put some between the layers of gauze to help numb the wound so I can keep walking. The cold will be slowing the infection as well, and does cut down on the swelling.

There are some trees and rocks we can still kind of hide in, otherwise the remaining Careers could probably spot us on the mountainside from the Cornucopia.

There is a path up to the cabin, but it twists back on itself all the time, which makes it longer but not as steep, and patches of ice cause the footing to still be treacherous. I know that I'm slowing us down. Courtesy of a walking stick, I don't have to lean on Sally anymore. Cord and Sally take turns scouting ahead while the other one stays behind with me. One good thing is that there have been no signs of other tributes coming around here, so we might be able to just stay at the cabin undisturbed for a few days.

I was so happy that Marcel and Delphinia were dead, especially Delphinia, that I hadn't done a count of the remaining tributes. I think we're at the final eight. I've made it as far as Jet did. Never thought I would manage that.

The Careers are better off now than they were in the 87th. They still have the Cornucopia at their disposal. Four of them, maybe still in an alliance.

Then there's the three of us and Antonio. 

Something will force us down this mountain towards the lake sooner rather than later, then. But first thing is first, we get further up this mountain to that stupid cabin. There better be something good inside.

I lean more heavily on my walking stick and power on. I'm glad that I pushed myself so much during training. Even with as little as we've been eating recently, I've been through worse, and I don't think I've ever been as good of a shape as this in my life, aside from my infected leg.

Cord falls back and Sally takes her turn scouting ahead. I look over at Cord and apologize, "Sorry for not being more useful right now."

"Well," Cord dramatically shrugs, "You did kill Phil, so I think that takes care of being useful for a while."

"I couldn't save Burl, though. And I got hurt, which is slowing us down." I point out.

"Take the compliment, idiot."

I don't think she really complimented me by pointing out I killed someone. But she's trying at least, which is more than she normally does.

I still have a hard time believing I killed someone. I know I did. I killed Phil, and probably killed that girl during the bloodbath. I know for certain I killed Phil.

Trying not to think too hard about it, I focus on the path ahead of me and keep on walking.

Sally comes back down the path, actually smiling. "I can see the cabin. We're maybe half an hour away."

Knowing the end is actually obtainable gives me a second wind. It only takes us twenty minutes to reach the cabin.

The cabin has walls made from logs and a thatched roof. There are no obvious gaps in the walls or roof. It's nicer than home in the Seam.

A drift of snow blocks the door. Sally starts to wrench it open. I use my walking stick to push some of the snow away then help lever the door open. Warmth drifts out of the growing crack.

We get the cabin open. Inside is warm, must be from an electric heater since there's no smoke, steam coiling out into the open air around us. There are blankets and a real bed and a table with chairs and cabinets that might actually have supplies in them. We pile inside and shut the door behind us.

I sit down on one of the chairs, using my walking stick to open up the nearest cabinet. There are canned beans inside. Jackpot.

"There's food!" I announce to the others, "Find a can opener."

Cord finds the can opener, and some spoons, too. There are three cans of beans so we each get a whole one to ourselves. With the lids removed, we set the cans on top of the electric heater to warm up while we look for other supplies.

A small first aid kit provides enough gauze to change the bandages on my leg. There is not that much pus right now. My body might be fighting off the infection on its own. The food will help with that even more.

The beans smell really good. I start eating first, taking small, slow bites. I dig around the cabinets while I chew. I am not starved to the point where refeeding syndrome is a major risk, but I have seen it happen enough that I want to be careful. I also want to savor what food there is in case there is nothing else within the cabin.

A box contains a dozen protein bars and six shiny packets with M.R.E. printed on the packaging in large block letters. Meals Ready to Eat. I've seen Careers with those plenty of times. Food packages with build in heating elements. They are the next best thing to fresh food from sponsor gifts you can get in the arena.

I pull the supplies out and divvy them up on the floor where Cord and Sally can see. For a moment, I consider pocketing a few of the protein bars for just myself. But I can't bring myself to do it. I can't betray my allies. It's one thing to know that move is the smart thing, the cunning, Victor thing to do. It's another thing entirely to actually do it.

Satisfied there is enough food to last us several days, I finish off my can of beans with no need to ration it.

I sit down at the table, propping my leg up on the other chair. It relieves most of the pressure on the constantly aching wound. A pair of windows are high on the western and eastern walls, providing some natural light, and a view of the sky.

For the first time since I rose into the arena, hell for the first time since I got Reaped, I feel some degree of safe. The Careers are not an imminent threat I expect to emerge from the shadows at any moment. The Gamemakers would have to put a mutt directly into the cabin for it to get at us. The worse thing that could happen would be, what? An avalanche. The cabin getting set on fire. The Gamemakers will find a way to force us out of here when they want to. Okay, may the cabin isn't that safe. 

But for now, it's a safe haven.

Cord flops down on the bed, saying, "I don't wanna think right now. Let's plan what to do in the morning."

I'm not going to press the issue. I don't know what we should even do.

Waiting for my leg to heal more would be good. It would speed us up, as well. Staying too long is dangerous as well. Getting to the point when the Gamemakers would force us out would have deadly consequences.

In the cabin we will not have to sleep in shifts. I go to my pack and grab my bedroll. I spread it out in front of the heater and lay down, propping my leg up on my pack. Cord dozes on the bed. Sally joins me by the heater.

She spread out her own bedroll and sits on it cross-legged. "Sorry for being weird, lately. You did what you had to. It just scared me, but I'm over it" She tells me.

"I'm scared of me, too. Don't worry about it." I admit to her.

There is a silence before Sally fills it again. "I do actually like you. At first I thought I'd get close for the sponsors, or whatever, but I actually like you."

What am I supposed to do with this information? I had figured out the romance angle thing she'd been going for. I don't like her back. She's not bad looking or anything. I'm just not interested in a relationship right now. Imminent death is kind of a mood killer.

"I..." I try to start but have no idea of what to say.

Sally gives me a look and tries to pass a grimace off as a smile. "I figured out you weren't interested a while ago. Just thought you ought to know. Doesn't matter anyways. At least one of us is going to die in the next few days."

We lapse back into silence and this time it is distinctly a lot more awkward.

It's funny how she says at least one of us will die. Like either of us has a chance at being the Victor. The odds are so low. Low odds does not mean impossible.

I promised I would get back home.

I pull the locket out from where it normally nestles under my shirt. I promised I would give it back to Spring. That's a promise better kept by handing it to her, instead of the alternative of it traveling on my corpse.

Alright, Jet, what should I do? I'm at a bit of a loss. Hiding doesn't work for long, you learned that. But fighting doesn't either.

"That's a girl's locket." Sally states.

There is a look on her face like she is judging me. She must think I was lying about not having someone back home. Like that's the reason I'm not interested in her.

"It's my sister's." I clarify for her. "It has my brother's ashes inside."


	15. Chapter 15

**Day 13**

**Ada Exxon**   
**Capitol Citizen**   
**Student**

Since it is down to the final eight, my parents are finally letting me sponsor my first tribute. I should have been able to last year, like all of my friends, but since I got a C on one stupid test, I wasn't allowed to. Now I'm lame because I only got to sponsor my first tribute at fourteen instead of thirteen. I know one boy that started sponsoring when he was ten, but that's cause his dad gambles and just wanted a larger sponsor number for his tributes. 

The hard part is choosing which tribute to sponsor. I only have 50 solidi. At least that puts my name on the official sponsor list. But I won't get invited to the party if my tribute wins, that's only for top ten sponsors. You have to sponsor for, like, thousands and thousands of Solidi to do that. 

Ugh... Decisions. I am so bad at making up my mind over things. That's why when I dyed my hair last week, I went for half pink and half purple since I couldn't choose between the two. But it turned out awesome, so being indecisive is not always a "dreadful" thing, despite what mommy might say.

I flip through the tribute list again. I really wanted to sponsor Marcel because he was a total hottie but then he went and got eaten by those dumb wolf mutts.

There's Lustora, but she's an absolute mean girl, so I don't want her to be Victor. Olivia Rockefeller, my sworn enemy, likes her. So, I'm so not sponsoring Lustora.

There are both tributes left from District 2. Dad always bets on them. Maybe if I agree to sponsor of them, dad will give me more money to do it. I'd probably sponsor Pluta then. She's, like, really funny and can do all these cool knife tricks. She hasn't gotten a kill since the bloodbath, but her District Partner Wolfe hasn't either.

I keep flipping through the list. Seth is the remaining tribute from District 4. He hasn't even gotten a kill yet. He's okay looking. Better than Wolfe at least. But I've never liked the District 4 tributes much. So many of my friends are, like, so obsessed with Lynn Rayna, but she's not even that good looking or funny or anything. She's just good at, like, stabbing things and cutting tributes heads off.

I look at all the other tributes. They're all boring.

Well, there is Ike. He is pretty cute. Not hot, but cute. Not normally my type. But his story is so totally tragic. His brother got Reaped, and now he got Reaped, and it's like a curse or something. 

And Sally-Bell has this adorable crush on him and admitted it and it's so cute. He turned her down but that's okay because now she's still pining after him and it's so dramatic. Ike had been totally oblivious to her feelings. In real life, oblivious boys are so annoying. But the Hunger Games are totally different.

Oh my gosh! I'm so going to sponsor Ike.

* * *

**Day 14**

**Lynn Rayna**   
**District 4**   
**Victor of the 87th Hunger Games, Mentor of Seth Nile**

The four remaining careers stand in a semi-circle in front of the Cornucopia. Its contents have been picked over. All food and medicines have been taken, divvied up by merit of who was smart enough to take it first. Fortunately, Seth was smart about gathering what he could while on watch the other night.

There is nothing else of value left for any other tribute to take. The Cornucopia is a husk now. All that's really left are a couple of empty crates stacked inside and a few packs that have been turned inside out. 

Each career has a pack of supplies, their favored weapon of what's available, and a few spare knives.

"It's agreed, then?" Seth reaffirms. "Truce until the final six?"

Lustora gives a dramatic sigh. Wolfe and Pluta take it seriously at least. Wolfe offers his hand. "We can all shake on it. We all hunt alone, but won't hunt each other until the final six."

Seth steps forward and shakes Wolfe's hand. He exchanges a handshake with Pluta as well. Lustora makes a big show of her reluctance but still shakes hands with everyone.

The pack splits, each heading in a different direction. Seth heads south, Lustora north, Wolfe east, and Pluta west. I double check the location map, making the projected paths visible as well. Pluta stands a chance of running into Antonio, but he's nearly a full day's walk away from her and had started circling north late last night. The cabin on the glacier is too far away for Lustora to reach.

The consoles split apart with the pack broken, sliding on their tracks in the floor. I prop my feet up on the desk and check betting odds. Seth is middle of the road. Wolfe is the safe bet right now. Seth also does he have the dramatic longshot like the members of the outlier alliance. I can't tempt any gamblers with him. He's just not a logical bet under any circumstances.

Seth just is not attracting sponsors in general. He's fine looking, but no great beauty. He's playing a safe game, as Neith tends to train her tributes to do (except Ajax was bold). Safe is never good for drawing in sponsors. On top of it all, he is a career without a kill. The kill counts have been disappointing for the Capitol audience this year, if the complaints on the forums are anything to go by.

Two deaths from hypothermia and three from mutts have prevented a higher career kill count so far. Two has been the max. Delph had two kills. Wolfe has two kills. Wait, shit, Ike has two kills, the girl from 10 during the bloodbath and then the boy from 9. It's a strange year when the bloodbath fodder is killing as much as the careers.

Neith catches my attention. "Saw you got Henderson out of limbo. How did you manage that?"

"Kill condition. Was pulling teeth to get him to agree to one instead of two." I drop my voice slightly, "Pulling teeth and a tidbit about the Minister of Defense's affair. Thought that one was common knowledge, but not to him."

I've gotten information about that affair from three sources now. Even the escort network knows. When the escorts know about something, everyone knows about something. Henderson is out of the loop, though, which is good for leverage. Need to keep that in mind for next year. 

Talking with sponsors, I've becoming increasingly convinced that the Capitol subsists solely on a diet of violence, sex, and secrets. Everything else is purely for show. They're all actually vampires. The alternative to that is they are all human yet still capable of such feats of cruelty.

The vampires theory is more comforting.

"That's the last of the ones in limbo." Neith observes. "There's a trickle, but nothing big coming in. Weapon prices are holding steady, so there's a still a chance for a sword."

I give a hum of agreement. Quite a bit of the sponsor money has been from convincing Delph's sponsors to transfer the funds over to Seth. Otherwise, it becomes a credit they can use to sponsor next year. 

"What are your thoughts on the timing breakdown?" Neith asks, evidently wanting to have an actual conversation. "You know Wolfshiem better than most."

Ah, yes. My dubious honor of being the first Victor from Head Gamemaker Pricilla Wolfshiem.  
I give it some serious thought. The pack splitting will generate temporary interest. That will lull quickly unless an actual encounter happens between one of the careers and Antonio. The outlier alliance's cabin party will likewise lull quickly.

"Feast in two or three days, depending on ratings. Just food, that's all they need to lure Antonio. Remote possibility of a special feast, given the infection starting to set in on Ike's leg." I state, mulling over anything else I have a feel for. "They'll hit the outliers with an avalanche, or mutts maybe, if they don't move at the feast announcement. Everyone needs to get pushed to the center or else there will be a starve out."

"You sound confident." Neith remarks.

"You wouldn't have asked me if I wasn't." I counter.

Am I arrogant? Yes. Do I deserve to be? I'd like to think so most of the time.

Within the arena, clouds are forming. The tell-tale suddenness of Gammaker weather. I have yet to figure out the limits of their control, if natural weather also happens within the arena. The force fields may stop the sky itself. A barrier that not even a bolt of lightning from mighty Zeus could pass through.

The rain that falls is a light drizzle. A slowing rain. A cause for pausing to refill canteens with the water that drips from the boughs of trees.

The next couple of hours are going to be slow. I turn back to Neith. "If you want to get a nap in, I can watch him."

"I got some sleep last night. You haven't slept in nearly two days." Neith unhelpfully points out.

Sleeping means dreaming and I don't want to face my dreams. At the same time, the caffeine pills are wearing off and I have to avoid the stronger stimulants thanks to some of the meds I have to take. I try not to take the meds when I'm mentoring, since I want to be sharp, not fuzzy headed. There's times I still need them. Like when I'm going to sleep.

"I'm fine, Neith."

"No, you're not. Go get some sleep." Neith pauses, waiting for a response I'm not going to give, and then she adds, "I will call Luke if I have to."

That's just playing dirty. Luke will make me take a nap. Then he'll make me do sprints when I'm back home. I glare at her, relenting with great reluctance. "Fine. Fine, I'll go take a nap."

I remove my headset and trudge over to the cots. I find one in the corner, so my flanks are protected. Double checking the slim knife at my waist is actually there, I sit down. I pop my prosthetic eyes out and put it away in the case I keep in my jacket pocket. My nerves on edge as they are, I keep the jacket on, knowing the thick leather offers decent protection. There's comfort in that.

It is a risk, not taking any of the meds before trying to sleep. But this is just a nap and I need to be sharp when I wake up. I think of sun and sand, of lapping waves and resting against Hyacinth after a long swim.

The hot breath of the wolf mutt greets me. Delph's head is clamped in its jaws and she flails against it. It drops her to snarl at me, standing over her body, guarding what is to be its kill.

I grip my trident tight. I know I won't be able to save her, just like I couldn't save Ajax. But I'll still try.


	16. Chapter 16

**Day 15**

**Ike Meadows**  
**District 12, Male Tribute**

The cabin windows let us watch the seal illuminate the sky. It fades, but trumpets sound instead of the anthem. The voice of Gemus Laurel fills the air. "Ladies and gentlemen, a feast will be held at the Cornucopia tomorrow at noon. You will all want to weigh your options heavily before turning down this opportunity."

The voice fades, replaced by the anthem, and the seal disappears from the sky.

My stomach gurgles, as if to give input as to what we should do. I need to think with my head, though. "He didn't say anything about special supplies for this one."

"Who cares about special supplies?" Cord insists. "We need food. That's special enough."

"Do you want to fight Careers for it?" I counter.

There's still four of them left and three of us. Going to the feast is madness. Feats are held to make the tributes regroup. Mainly so the Careers can kill everyone. I have a wounded leg, Cord is thirteen, and Sally just isn't any good at fighting. None of us stand a chance at getting anything from the feast.

Sally sighs heavily. "We can't stay here. There's only protein bars left, and those will only last us a couple more days. We don't have to go to the feast, but we should at least go back to the woods to hunt and look for edible plants. Is that a fair compromise?"

"Sounds good to me." Cord quickly agrees.

She seems too eager to get out of here. Maybe the confined space is bothering more than I gave thought to. As long as we don't go to the feast, it will be fine.

"Alright." I concede. "Let's sleep here for the night, where it's warm, then leave at first light."

"Okay." Cord agrees.

No more argument, no calling me an idiot, or even rolling her eyes at me. That's odd. Maybe the starvation is making her more agreeable. That's the only explanation I can think of.

We all head to our respective sleeping places and settle down for a decent night's sleep. Likely to be our last ever.

* * *

The morning comes, soft light streaming through the cabin windows to wake us up.

My back pops and my leg throbs, but only once. The swelling has gone down and there is not as much pus. I've gotten lucky the wound is healing well on its own. My immune system is rather good. I have never gotten sick that much at home, the occasional bought of winter sniffles, but nothing that serious.

I pack up my bedroll and reorganize my pack so everything important, mainly the food, is within easy reach.

Sally and Cord begin to move around as well, packing their own things. We stay silent. I do not want to leave the cabin. I know it might be the smart move, but there is safety here for now. Ultimately, I would rather leave here of my own free will than be possibly killed if driven away by the Gamemakers.

We all have our things packed. Sally has been passed the knife for now, so that makes all of us armed. Using the walking stick to lever the door open, a blast of cold air washes over us.

Cord trudges out the door, the snow crunching under her boots. Sally and I head out after her. Out of sheer habit, I shut the door behind us. 

Getting down from the where the cabin is proving faster than going up. I still have the walking stick but do not lean as heavily on it. We go to the west, having not been there before, and see from this vantage that the woods are thicker there. Thicker woods mean a better possibility for edible plants and animals around.

At elevation, there is little need for Cord or Sally to scout ahead yet. The view is commanding. The downside of the thicker woods is being unable to see clearly into their depths. Anything could be hidden within them.

We get down to the tree line before noon. It's still over twenty-four hours until the feast.

There is actual undergrowth here, and plenty of tripping hazards in the form of roots and rocks, so I have to slow down a lot again. There are some fallen pines that force us to constantly change our route.

Sally offers to scout ahead. She goes ahead and does with without any input. It's been rather awkward with her, so I'm not really going to complain.

Going through the woods, I keep an eye out for edible plants. The inner layer of pine bark is always reliable. A spot a low growing plant with red, many segmented berries on it.

"Wait," I tell Cord, kneeling down to check the leaves.

I count the points of the broad green leaves. Eighteen points. They're raspberries.

I tell Cord and we pick the bush clean.

"I'll go switch out with Sally, tell her the good news." Cord tells me before starting to jog ahead.

She scrambles over a large fallen pine tree that blocks the way ahead. My leg throbs as if to tell me, 'not happening.' I'm going to have to go around it. The root ball is to my left and the tapering top is to the right. Going around the roots should be faster. 

A scream pierces the air. It takes a moment to realize it's from right in front of me, where Cord just disappeared from sight over the log. I arm myself with my rock. I want to heroically charge forward, but that's a bad idea both due to the injury to my leg and the fact I'm not hero material.

I sneak instead, trying to stay low and obscured by the large fallen pine tree.

The Careers always make plenty of noise when they've tracked someone down. It must be Antonio, then. There's no cannon firing and just a pained keening filling the air.

There are no more sounds of fighting.

Cord jumps over the log and drops down next to me.

"What's happening?" I ask her.

She does not answer me. She's wide eyed and there's blood on her sleeve. There is a smell like lightning. Her arm swings out. Something hits my chest and my muscles all cramp up at once. My vision flickers out.

* * *

"Ike? Ike, come on. I know you're not dead. There hasn't been a cannon. You need to wake up. Please." The sound of my name and the rustling of leaves and pine needles wake me up.

Everything hurts. Something happened. I remember a fallen pine tree. Then there's nothing.

Even something as simple as cracking my eyes open hurts. Forcing an arm underneath my torso, I prop myself up enough to look around. Sally is slumped against the fallen pine tree. Her stomach is dark with blood.

"Sally?" I croak, my tongue heavy and throat dry. "What happened?"

"Cord. She stabbed me. I think she must have shocked you. She took my pack and most of your things, too." Sally relays the information between labored breaths.

Her face is pale and her lips are tinged blue. The temperature is fine. It's from blood loss.

All I can do is trust her about that. Nothing before first seeing the log comes to mind. Trauma induced amnesia. I read about it in a book once, I think.

I push myself to a sitting position. A leaf falls from where it stuck to my cheek and pine needles fall from the folds of my jacket. I can feel how light my pack has become. I'll need to tally what I'm missing and what I still have.

Everything just hurts. I'd trade getting stabbed again over this. The taser would have caused full body muscle spasms. Looking down, there is a charred mark on my shirt. That also points to being tasered.

"I pulled the knife out." Sally gestures to her stomach "That was really stupid of me."

She's not wrong. With stab wounds, you're supposed to leave the stabbing thing in the wound to slow the bleeding until you can get treatment. There is nothing I can do for her. Nothing that sponsors can or want to do for her, either, or else a parachute would have already been sent.

"Can you sit with me?" She asks, her voice catching with a pained noise.

"Of course." I tell her.

I drag myself over to the log, the feet feeling like miles as every muscle protests at the movement. At the log, I prop myself up next to her. She lays her head on my shoulder. I stroke her hair, careful to avoid tugging on any tangles. I don't want to cause her any more pain.

Sally clutches the knife by the blade. She lifts her arm, offering me the handle. Her voice comes out in a whisper. "End it."

The realization of what she wants me to do takes a moment to stick. She wants me to kill her.

"No." I whisper, then shake my head. "I can't. No. I can't do that."

Sally jams the hilt of the knife into my chest. "Just end it. Please. It hurts. And I'm too scared to do it myself."

I push the hilt of the knife away. I look down at her. I'm a few inches taller than her. I never noticed that before. It makes her seem that much smaller.

"I can't. If anything I'd just make it worse." I try to appeal with logic, since my abject horror at the thought is not enough for her.

Sally stubbornly grabs my hand, puts the hilt of the knife in it, and forces my fingers to curl around the leather grip. Her fingernails have turned purple. "You go for the big vessels in the neck. That's how the Careers do it when they cut someone's throat."

I break her grip. It's easy with how weak she has become. "All the more reason I can't. I'm not a Career. I'm nothing like them."

Sally gives me a disgusted look. "You've killed someone, Ike. But you can't help me?"

I place the knife in her lap and push myself to my feet. My legs wobble, threatening to buckle, but I stay upright. I look down at her, so far down and she looks so small. I don't know what to say so I don't say anything.

To the west. It seems as good a direction as any. One foot, then the other.

"Ike!" Sally shouts at me.

She's being loud. It'll draw attention. Need to move.

One foot, then the other. 

"Ike!" She shouts again. "Don't leave me!"

If she keeps shouting like that, maybe a Career will come. That's what she wants after all. A Career to cut her throat. To end it.

"Come back!"

One foot, then the other.

"Please, come back! Don't leave me! Ike!"

I am nearing the end of the fallen pine, the tapering end. Pine needles litter the ground. I need to get away from Sally. For a lot of reasons.

"Ike!" She wails, long and loud.

I keep trudging until I can't hear her any more, her voice lost to the distance. Then I keep on trudging because I'm afraid of what will happen if I stop long enough to think about anything else but putting one foot in front of the other. Keep on going west. The woods are thick here. I can hide here.

Two large trees and a few rocks make a shallow depression I wedge myself inside it. Setting my pack between my legs, I see what I still have. A canteen, empty. One protein bar at the very bottom of the pack, overlooked by Cord. My rock. Nothing else.

I lean back in the cave, resting my head on the cool rock. I am going to die out here.

A cannon fires.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

Is it a bad thing that I didn't help her? Killing people is wrong. Not helping people is also wrong. Which is worse, then? How can you help someone by killing them?

Pine needles rustle right in front of me. I open my eyes to see a canister and its silver parachute a foot in front of me. I reach out and take it.

Unscrewing the lid of the canister, I look at the contents. A slim case with "antibiotics" written on it, in red letters, which is bothersome because none of those letters are actually red. The colors are stronger with numbers but I get them with letters, too.

Along with the medicine, are a small bottle of water and a bundle containing two drop biscuits. Like the ones made at home from Tesserae grain.

I make sure to look up, look around so the cameras can see me, and say, "Thank you."

At face value, it's the sponsors I'm thanking. In my heart, it's Haymitch. I take this as a sign that he thinks I made the right choice, did the right thing.

I turn my attention to the medicine first. The case opens to reveal a cylinder, a needle on one end, and a button on the other. I have seen medicine like this in previous Games so I know how they're used. Pressing the end with the needle flush to the skin right next to the wound on my leg, I press the button. A sharp pain tells me the needle pierced my skin. I wait five seconds, to make sure all the antibiotics are injected, before removing the cylinder and putting it back in the case.

I stick the case back in the silver canister. There is both a desire to save anything potentially useful and not wanting to leave behind anything that might give my presence away. I remove a drop biscuit, tear it in half, and keep the smaller half. Everything else is stored safely away in my pack for later.

A cannon shot breaks the silence. Someone else is dead.

I get to my feet, hoisting my pack. I look up, searching for any signs of a hovercraft. The dense woods have an equally dense canopy and I have no chance.

Once more, it's one foot in front of the other westward. I take a small sip of water to wet my mouth. Continuing on, I tear off tiny pieces of roll. 

A crack breaks the silence instead of a cannon shot. Ahead of me, a pine tree falls, blocking my path. I take a few cautious steps forward. Another crack and this pine is closer. Okay, okay. I get the message. The Gamemakers don't want me here.

East is the lake. East is the Cornucopia and the Careers and the Feast tomorrow. That is where I will have to go.


	17. Chapter 17

**Day 16**

**Ike Meadows**  
**District 12, Male Tribute**

From the rocky hollow I found, uncomfortably close to the lake, I can watch the sky for the announcement. I found more raspberries and get to eat those for my dinner.

The anthem plays, the seal appearing on the dark canvas of the sky. The seal is replaced by Cord's portrait.

That means she is dead. She was the second cannon shot. 

Cord is dead. Unlikeable, know-it-all Cord, who stabbed Sally and tasered me. And I'm still sad. Because she tried. She was clever enough to make a taser I can personally testify to the effectiveness of. Sometimes when she said something nasty, she would actually apologize, not meaning for it to come out that way. It's hard to hate a scared thirteen-year-old.

At the same time, she is a thirteen-year-old who betrayed the alliance. She killed Sally and tried to kill me. It's not like she waited around for the cannon shots or did anything to assure them, but wounding us and taking our supplies was a death sentence. I'm not going even try to understand what she was thinking.

Cord's portrait is replaced by Sally's. Sally invokes some complicated feelings. She begged me to kill her but I couldn't. Maybe I should have. Just to put her out of her misery. But it was not right of her to ask that of me.

I've killed someone, that's true. But that doesn't make me a killer. I didn't do it on purpose. I did stab him on purpose and kept stabbing him. But that's just because he killed Burl. And... and he would have killed everyone, given the chance. I had to kill him.

I'm not like the Careers. I do not want to be here. I did not volunteer to be in the arena and to kill people. I want to be home. Just home. No Victor's crown and fancy house and stipend. That's not what I want if this is the cost. I just want to be home but the only way to get home is by being the Victor.

I'm not a bad person. I'm not.

I killed someone but I'm not a bad person.

I tug a curtain of branches over the entrance of the hollow and try to get some sleep. It's hard to. This is the first time I've ever slept without at least one person being a couple feet away from me.

* * *

The sun has not yet reached its high, closer to nine or so, if the sun is anything like the one back home. I never know with the arena. I've only ever really paid close attention to the 87th Hunger Games. The others, I just tried to daydream during the mandatory viewings.

The lake shore is deserted, from what I can see. I keep back from the tree line, wary about encountering anyone else. All will know I am now alone with both my allies dead.

A solid twenty minutes of walking brings the opening of the Cornucopia into sight. No one is there. Scattered around the entrance are scraps left behind. Plastic sheets and emptied packs, nothing of value. Within, I can see large, opened creates that must have held food at one point. The Careers have picked it clean and left. They must be out hunting now, either together or alone.

No one is here, that I can see, nor are there signs of recent occupation. There is not even anything left from whatever cookfire the Careers must have had. I cannot exclude the possibility of someone else hiding in the woods like I am, but no one has taken this place over.

The empty Cornucopia proves very tempting.

I have seen parts of the recap of the 74th Hunger Games several times before, along with the recap of the 50th and the 11th. District 12's only three points of "pride." What I remember distinctly from the 74th Games was surprisingly not something done by our Victors. It was the girl from District 5 hiding in the Cornucopia in preparation for the feast.

Trying to steal that trick may kill me. It may also save me. I'm going to try it.

I get to the point of woods that is closest to the Cornucopia entrance. The fact I do not trip over someone else during my circling tells me I may be one of the first ones to arrive, for whatever reason.

My leg is no longer infection sore. All I have to do is sprint the thirty or so feet to the Cornucopia mouth. It'll be okay as long as I'm not seen by someone.

Deep breath.

Three... Two... One!

I dash across the rocky lake shore and reach the Cornucopia, disappearing inside. I dive behind one of the open crates. My chest heaves as I suck in a deep lungful of cool air.

There is no sound but the rushing of blood in my ears. No pursuit. No Career whoops and cries of "I got one!" Just my frantic beating heart that means that I am alone.

That... actually worked. Wow.

I look around at what's been left behind. Open, and emptied, crates and boxes for the most part. Packs have been turned inside out. A couple of canteens lie open and empty. No water and no food. A medical kit lies emptied as well. No medicine. The Careers were thorough in picking over the Cornucopia before abandoning it.

I set my pack against the Cornucopia wall, letting it fall and look abandoned like the rest. I take my rock, so at least I'll be kind of armed, and try to find a good hiding spot in here.

One of the crates, a big one that maybe held a tent or some big jugs of water, is closed. Another crate with the lid missing is on top of it, toward the front. I hoist myself up onto the big crate. Lying on my stomach to keep my profile low, I can keep myself mostly obscured with the second crate while still being able to watch the entrance of the Cornucopia.

The best thing is not having to move anything. Moving anything at all could alert an attentive Career to someone poking around here. That could lead to them investigating the interior of the Cornucopia, which would lead to my inevitable death.

The very edge of the forest is in my sight. I watch the shadows across the rocks to tell the time.

The shadows shrink as noon approaches. Smaller and smaller and smaller. Noon. Twelve. Coal black.

The rocks move, parting as a wedge rises up from the ground. The structure, a long rectangular pyramid made of metal supported by four legs, continues to rise until reaching around four feet tall. The wedge opens up, the walls sliding into the base, revealing the feast.

A breeze wafts the mouthwatering scent of food to me. There's roasted meats and mashed potatoes slathered in butter and fresh yeasty rolls. Fresh fruit is piled on platters, apples and pears and oranges and a bunch of others I cannot name. Several pitchers, full of water and fruit juices, sit next to thermoses that will contain hot drinks like tea and coffee. 

I cover my nose with my hand, trying to block out the temptation of the food. I'll get the scraps. It's not safe to move yet. I try to distract myself with concerns of refeeding syndrome and the not-too-distant presence of Careers.

Scooting far enough back, I slip off the crate and crouch on the ground. Gripping my rock tight, I get ready in case someone does decide come inside the Cornucopia.

I strain my ears, listening for any sign of other tributes being around. Rocks knock together. Metal rattles on metal. Someone is out there. I dare not poke my head out to look who it is.

More rocks moving, louder. Heavier footsteps. 

"Pluta."

"Wolfe."

The two greet each other.

The crunch of an apple being bitten. They aren't fighting, which makes sense for District partners. I do not remember any times that's happened with Careers, even when they clearly hate each other.

All I can do is wait for the Careers to leave. I try to keep my breathing steady as my heart flutters in my chest.

* * *

**Lynn Rayna**  
**District 4**  
**Victor of the 87th Hunger Games, Mentor of Seth Nile**

Seth arrives at the periphery of the feast, lingering in the woods.

Down to the final six, the truce between the surviving careers is broken. The tributes from District 2 have maintained a truce between the two of them. No surprise there. That's common for them. It's always taboo to kill your District partner.

An alert pops up as another tribute's trajectory places them into conflict with Seth. It's Lustora. Forty feet away, moving slowly.

Dense forest cover. Minimal visibility. Preference for throwing knives but has been posturing with closer quarters with a serrated knife due to Pluta's throwing knife preference and greater skill. Throwing knives have been gaining in popularity due to a general lack of other small ranged weapons. Bow and arrow used to be a viable option but have fallen out of favor since the 74th and 75th Games.

Seth has his axe in hand, which is good.

Lustora does not appear to be purposefully heading for him, not moving silently enough for that. Instead, she's heading for a known clear spot near the edge of the woods, marked with a lightning struck pine.

Thirty feet away now. Her footwork is faltering. She had eaten some pokeberries yesterday, likely mistaking them for blackberries, and has been suffering from nausea and dizziness. She is also suffering due to only having a single mentor supporting her.

Midas' extreme distress is completely understandable. I do not know how I would react if anything were to happen to the twins, let alone a death like Marcel's. At the same time, Midas is a mentor and has a duty to Lustora. He has failed her.

Twenty feet away. Another slip-up and a branch snaps. Seth hears it, his head jerking in that direction and his heartrate increasing accordingly.

Seth retreats back to the cover of a particularly leafy tree and cluster of shrubs, leaving the clearing unoccupied. Lustora emerges from the opposite side. She stumbles and catches herself on a nearby tree. She presses her forehead to the bark, what little color she has to her cheeks draining away.

Two bounds are all it takes for Seth to cross the clearing. Lustora begins to react, drawing her serrated knife, but the axe bites deep into her back. She cries out in pain, her voice high and wavering and unfortunately loud enough to carry over to the Cornucopia.

The screen splits.

Wolfe and Pluta both turn toward the sound. 

Seth artfully dodges a wild slash from Lustora. Countering with a backhanded swing of his axe, he catches her under the chin. Blood sprays, a perfect arc for the camera. I never bothered learning how to do that. Preferred stabbing weapons anyways. But a sponsorship pinging for 100 solidi says it was effective.

Wolfe and Pluta take a wishbone from one of the roast chickens on the feast table. It snaps and Pluta gets the larger half. She heads toward the commotion.

Blood pulses from under Lustora's chin. She clutches at her neck, blood coating her hands, and her legs give out. She collapses in a heap, still trying to stem the flow of blood. Seth brings the axe down in a powerful stroke, burying it in her skull.

The cannon fires.

Sponsorships are coming in as his kill count is now officially one. Given the feast, there is a lockout, so none of the funds can be accessed at the moment. He will not get his sword yet, but will once the lockout lifts.

And Pluta is heading toward him.

Fifty feet and closing.

Seth removes Lustora's pack and wipes his axe clean.

Forty feet and closing. The projection gives thirty seconds until intersection.

Seth steps away from the body so the hovercraft will be able to retrieve it. He takes a drink of water and wipes his axe off on the grass. That removes the brain and bits of flesh, but a few drops of blood still fall from it.

The hovercraft arrives swiftly, clearing the area for the anticipated next fight.

The sound of Pluta jogging over the rocky shore reaches Seth. He returns to his previous hiding spot in order to watch the clearing. No, he should be running. He has no trap in place to give him an advantage. All he has is the possibility of stealth but that is not a guaranteed advantage.

Pluta arrives at the clearing as predicted. She coolly observes the blood on the ground. There are a few droplets that form a trail, having fallen from the axe.

A throwing knife is sent flying into the tree that Seth lurks behind. He does not jump at the nearby impact, which is a small mercy. Pluta stares into the shadows. Seth is still, the only movement being the expansion and contraction of his chest as he breaths.

Another knife is in the air before I can fully register Pluta's movement.

Seth dives to the side but the blade still sinks into the bicep of his left arm. It'll be alright, that's a survivable wound. I survived a knife to the arm. He'll be fine, he just needs to get away.

Seth charges into the clearing, fast enough to tackle Pluta before she can draw another knife.

No. No, you idiot. He is not equipped properly to fight her. If he had a sword, properly balanced for his size and fighting style, it would a good fight. This is not a good fight.

I glance over at Neith to gauge her reaction. She's actually smiling. Did she seriously mentor him to do something this stupid? Guess so. She was Ajax's mentor, after all, and he was that brave kind of stupidly reckless. It's heroic, but heroes are never Victors.

Seth lands a solid punch to Pluta's face, her nose breaking with a crack the microphones pick up clearly. He catches her wrist before she can knife him in the neck. A kick to his guts drive him off.

The two careers roll back to their feet. A trickle of blood flows down Seth's arm from the knife wound but he has enough presence of mind to not remove it for now. Blood pours from Pluta's nose.

They circle each other. Pluta has a knife in each hand and Seth has his axe. He has the advantage of a longer reach, both from a height advantage and the long handle of his weapon. There is a flurry of movement as the two close the distance.

Seth swings his axe, clipping Pluta's left arm, and I dare let myself hope.

Pluta closes the distance between them, preventing Seth from getting in another clean swing. That's the problem with any weapon with reach; reach only works when you have the space for it. He should have a knife in his offhand but doesn't for whatever reason. He has a knife, he should have it in his offhand. 

Blood pouring down her arm, Pluta grabs Seth by the collar of the jacket. He twists away from the first stab. He strikes her elbow but her grip remains iron strong.

Shit. 

He elbows her in the face, her nose crunching again. Good recovery. He still has a chance.

Come on. Seth, you can do this. Just break her hold and run this time.

Ares grant him strength.

Pluta's grip does not loosen. Her right hand, serpent quick, arcs up and metal glints. There's blood. Seth's vitals go haywire, alarms blaring. There is nothing to be done.

Seth falls back, blood pouring from his opened throat. 

No...

His cannon fires.

The console switches from the District 4 focus feed to the main feed. But there's no point in watching anymore. There is nothing to watch for us.

I take off the headset, setting it down on the desk in front of me. Neith gets up without a word. I know she'll be going to make the call.

Grabbing my coffee cup, I leave as well. I need to go over stats again. I went wrong somewhere; that much is obvious. I need to rethink training strategies. Need to improve volunteer selection. Make sure they'll listen.

It's a painful backslide. Peter had been fifth and Lauren third. Now, Delph ninth and Seth fifth.

It went wrong but I can fix it. I have to fix it.


	18. Chapter 18

**Day 17**

**Lynn Rayna**   
**District 4**   
**Victor of the 87th Hunger Games**

I have not seen Neith since she left to make the call yesterday. She never came back to the suite. I do worry, but she's my senior as a Victor and a mentor, and it's not my place to question what she does with her time. If she's still gone tonight, I'll call Luke to ask him about it. It just could be how she copes. 

I'm just restless. Last year, I did not have as long to stew over everything. It was a simple transition from absolute devastation to doing interviews on talk shows about my opinion on our newest Victor. It kept me distracted until I could go home and come to peace with things in my own space on my own time.

There is nothing to distract me right now. Even flicking between channels, there is always the stream from the main feed playing in the corner of the screen. Mandatory viewing at its finest.

The current shot is on Ike within the Cornucopia, reorganizing his supplies yet again. Equipment cataloging is an easy compulsion to slide into. Rationing, he will have enough for two or three days depending on his activity level.

The end will be here soon. The feast had no more fatalities. Antonio did not show up at all. He is a decent trap maker and has kept himself fed with squirrels and the occasional blackberry bush he has found. Wolfe and Pluta ate their fill, grabbed a few things that keep well, and left. Ike grabbed what he could as the table was retracted back into the ground.

I need to do something. My mind has just been going in loops. I do not have a solution on how to fix the problem of my tributes dying. (Tributes will keep dying as long as the Hunger Games go on. The solution to the problem is to end the Games. But that's not possible. It was tried. It failed.)

Weapon drills might do the trick. I can just drive myself to exhaustion and that might let me get some actual sleep. If that doesn't work, it's back on the meds. I hate the meds.

Shucking off my nightgown, I change into a pair of pants and an undershirt. I slip on a pair of boots. I've taken to wearing boots almost all of the time in the Capitol, since most pants don't have proper pockets, so I have a place to slip a knife. I really shouldn't carry a knife with me all of the time but it helps when I'm off the meds.

Leaving my room behind, I cross over to the elevator that will take me to the lobby. Staring out the glass walls, I can see that no one but the Peacekeepers on guard are around. Better it is just them that see me instead of any of the other Victors or the escorts. They'll want to talk to me. I really don't want to talk to anyone right now.

Crossing the lobby takes me to the next elevator. I feel like I'm being watched. But that is just the nature of being in the Capitol with all the surveillance.

Going down is familiar. The training room is familiar. The feel of one of the Capitol javelins in my hand is familiar. I know weapon drills. I am good at weapon drills. There is a great comfort in the familiarity and being good at something.

The javelins mostly strike intended targets. My depth perception has not completely recovered, even with the advanced Capitol prosthesis resorting much of my lost vision, but I improve my accuracy with each repetition of the drills. I empty ever bracer of javelins available.

My arms ache and my blood sings. I push myself onward.

Trident, now. Strike the neck. Strike the gut, the groin, between the ribs.

Why can I kill six people but not save a single one?

I try to brush the question aside. Knock the dummy down, strike the sternum, twist and know the ribcage would crack open to reveal breathing lungs and beating heart and spurting blood. Onto the next.

But why am I so good at killing but not saving?

The fire of anger engulfs me. Angry at myself and angry at the Capitol and angry at Delph because she didn't fucking listen to me and angry at Neith for training her tributes to be martyrs and angry at them for listening to her.

I drop all pretense of form, just driving the tines of the trident over and over and over again into the torso of the dummy. The stuffing spills. But that's not accurate. It should be guts that smell like orange juice and bile that spill out.

A flicker of shadow and I whirl on whoever has come here.

Midas stands ten paces away. His hair hangs limply around his face, greasy and unkempt, and his eyes are sunken into their sockets. In one hand, he holds a sabre.

He settles into a guard stance and nods to me.

I charge at him.

Training weapons do not have proper edges, but still can do plenty of damage. It's a wonderful bit of knowledge, knowing I can hurt him. We never do actually hurt each other, the odd small bruise is the most that ever happens. It is more the opportunity to do so but not taking it that holds the appeal. Having power and not using it. And that is all okay because I know he's thinking the same thing. It's a twisted kinship the two of us have.

Midas sidesteps my charge but I knew he would. I've been brought over near the sword station, which is my real target. I spin, throwing the trident. Midas dives out of the way.

I grab one of the short swords I know suits me, recognizing the dark blue of the synthetic leather grip. I bring the blade to bear in time to parry Midas' first blow. It's a dance as we parry and dodge and weave around each other. Normally, it's a dance he has an advantage in. But we are both rattled and I'm bright-hot-angry so that gives me the advantage today.

I force him back, step by step. Steel screeches on steel in a way that I would never do with a real blade. But training weapons lack an edge to be worried about maintaining, so I can blunt it all I please.

A lance of pain under my left arm. Midas has first blood. I brush it away, not letting it stop me. (My axillary artery would have been severed. Bleed out in less than a minute.)

I go for a cheap shot, arcing my blade toward his neck. He jerks back as anticipated and gives me the opening to sweep his legs out from under him. He hits the padded floor with a satisfying smack.

He kicks out, trying to trip me up as well. I block the kick with my blade. He really isn't thinking right now.

Hissing in pain, because the solid metal of the blade can still bruise, Midas rolls out of range and gets back to his feet. I take up a guard stance and wait for him to come to me. He begins to circle. I mirror him step for step.

He feints but it's his usual pattern, so I sidestep to the right, bringing my alongside him. With my free hand, I grab his wrist, squeezing the tendons hard, which forces him to drop his sabre. He writhes in my grip, but I am strong enough to twist his arm behind his back and bring my sword to his throat. Controlling him with his wrist, I force him to his knees.

Midas keeps fighting, despite the fact I've disarmed him and have him in a hold. I tighten my grip on his arm and shift to bring my sword arm around his throat, though apply no pressure. I tell him, "Yield."

A growl tears out of Midas' throat. The calm voice in the back of my mind manages to break through the heat of anger. (This has gone too far.)

Midas contorts himself. The tension on his arm increases. Something in his arm gives way before I can fully loosen my grip.

"Shit, Mi-" I am cut off by Midas throwing his head back, the back of his skull connecting with my mouth.

There is blood in my mouth. I fall back. Phantom pains in my cheek make everything blur. I release the sword, gripping the foam padding of the training room floor. I am here. I am here and this is not the arena but there is blood in my mouth. The force of the blow likely caused by teeth to cut the inside of my lips. I cannot see clearly but that is just because there are tears welling in my eyes. There is no blood in my eyes.

I blink away the tears, lying on my back and digging my fingers deep into the foam padding. A heavy blow slams my ribs. A pained hiss whistles between my teeth. Instinct takes over. I roll to the side, pulling the knife from my boot as I move. My ribs scream in protest at the motion, stopping me from getting to my feet. 

"What are you two doing?" A sharp voice asks. "What did I say about live steel in the training room?"

I recognize the voice. It is Lanista, the orange-eyed nurse who implanted my tracker and has since been promoted to one of the Center nurses that oversees the health of the Capitol staff and Victors here. Among the medical staff, she has the unofficial title of Mentor Wrangler, as she is the first one we go to when we need to be patched up for whatever reason. She honestly gives us more leeway than she should when it comes to a lot of things. One of her conditions for not caring about sparing in particular is no live steel.

I sheath the knife. I do my best to lie still. The pain to my ribcage makes me think severe bruising, a possible fracture. 

I am here. This is the Capitol. Not the arena. I can still taste blood. 

In my peripheral vision, Midas clutches his right arm. I can see the angle of his shoulder is off. Lanista holds Midas' shoulder, rotating the joint slowly until it pops back in place. With it being that easy, it was not fully dislocated, just partially. My ribs hurt too much to feel bad for him. Pulling a syringe from somewhere in her coat, Lanista gives Midas an injection near the injury.

Lanista turns her attention to me. She tugs up my undershirt, pressing lightly on the area around my ribs where a bruise is already blossoming.

"A fracture is possible." She notes, and pulls another, larger syringe from her coat. I spot a small bracer of the things held within an inner pocket. She must expect having to do things like this frequently and keeps syringes on hand that do not require refrigeration. She gives me an injection that no doubt contains of cocktail of medications to promote bone growth and dull the pain.

Lanista pulls something from her bag this time. She hands me a small bottle and tells me with rinse my mouth with it. The pale blue liquid smells like mint and tastes like pain as it causes the cuts on the inside of my lips to sting. The mouth rinse causes the bleeding to stop quickly and will have something in it to help with the swelling as well. I find it easier to focus again when I no longer taste so much blood.

Lanista also gives us a lecture. "It's fine that you two spar but you really must be more careful. These are serious injuries. Either of them could have been far worse and would have had major health consequences. See to it that you do not injure each other like this in the future."

Midas turns on the charm, all demure smiles that seem ridiculous compared his earlier actions. "We'll be more careful. Sorry to cause you any trouble."

I don't bother apologizing since I'm not sorry and do not have the energy to pretend to be. Lanista gives me a pointed look. I find the energy to pretend. "Sorry for causing concern."

"Alright," Lanista says with a nod, repacking her med kit. "Try to take it easy, you two. No intensive physical activity for three days, including sparing. No drinking alcohol or taking additional painkillers for twelve hours."

Lanista exits through the side door the leads to the medical ward. They will have everyone on hand right now, prepping for the arrival of the newest Victor when the Games end. It is only a matter of time. Only a few days will be left.

Midas takes a hesitant step toward me, extending a hand. "Sorry. I shouldn't have... I..." He trails off, lowering his hand.

The flash of charm he turned on for Lanista is gone now. He does not, cannot, look me in the eye. I extend a hand toward him. "I'm sorry, too. We're both not in good places. And we both should have known better."

Midas takes me hand and helps me to my feet. He releases his grip quickly. A tension still hangs in the air, remnants of the grief fueled frenzy.

"Want to get cleaned up and go to the Jabber Jay?" He suggests, his voice unsure.

It is strange seeing Midas so off kilter. I feel almost privileged to see him as anything but in perfect control of his emotions. There is trust that is shown with the vulnerability I get to see. I do not trust him that much, but I appreciate he trusts me and do my best not to violate it.

Staying cooped up here has obviously not gone well for either of us, so I agree. "Okay, on one condition. I get to wear my sweater without hearing you bitch about it."

Midas rolls his eyes. "I don't think I can promise that. That thing is hideous."

"It is comfortable." I retort, easily slipping into the pattern of banter we've developed.

"One of these days," Midas begins as he starts to head toward the elevator, "I will find you something just as comfortable that isn't hideous."

I jog a few steps to catch up with him. "You are welcome to try."

He will never succeed. Half the appeal of my fluffy pink sweater is the fluffy and the other half of the appeal is the pink. It cannot be beat.

Midas holds the elevator door open for me and asks, "Hey, Lynn, you wouldn't have actually stabbed me, right?"

I step in, Midas right behind me, and press the button to take us back to the lobby. "Dunno. If you'd gotten closer to me, probably. Having blood in my mouth screws with my head. So maybe next time watch the face, yeah? And don't stomp on my ribcage for that matter."

"You dislocated my shoulder." Midas retorts.

"You dislocated your own shoulder, I was starting to let go."

"You're a bitch."

"You're a bitch."

I'm glad we're friends.


	19. Chapter 19

**Day 18**

**Jay Wolfshiem**  
**Capitol Citizen**  
**"Professional Gambler"**

I should not have to arrange an appointment to speak with my own sister.

This is bad. This is horrible. I do not have time to wait on my sister.

The Head Gamemaker's office is Spartan, the furnishing all high quality but lacking in quantity. A clear sign of my sister's touch. She's single minded, my dear sister is. To both our detriments, I fear. Her bluntness, her inevitable flat refusal that anything occurred, will no doubt be taken as lies.

Has arranging this meeting just sped up everything? Perhaps.

I pour myself another whiskey. I had an Avox bring me a whole bottle. The most expensive they had. I may as well enjoy myself while I still have a chance.

I should have stayed a mutt designer. You can't make a living off of gambling. I know that. But the thrill of it... Better than anything pit-side at the Jabber Jay. Designing fighting mutts was just a means to pay for the real thrill.

The r-word has been going around. Ike making it to the final eight cleared all my debts, and then some. Now he's final four, I have more money than I could ever dream of. But some official flanked by District 1 bodyguards has started asking around about me. I've seen her talking to the staff at the bar. When she actually spoke directly to me, she asked if I speak with my sister at all.

Being the damn fool that I am, I answered honestly. Of course, I do, she's my sister.

But no. Someone went and said the dreaded r-word. Then talking to my sister is suspicious.

Collusion they'll wind up calling it.

All I wanted was Ike in the final eight. I just didn't think that would involve the deaths of two very popular tributes. But for whatever reason, Pricilla killed off Marcel and Delphinia with mutts. That's proven wildly unpopular. If they'd been pushed into a confrontation and gotten killed by the other volunteer tributes, which would have been one thing. A mutt execution speaks to something else entirely.

So someone went and claimed the Games have been rigged.

Another whiskey and I am still not drunk enough to deal with this.

A side door opens and my sister appears. Angry lines are on her forehead. "What do you want, Jay? This is a critical time period and I don't have time for your nonsense."

"There's talk of the Games being rigged." I tell her, blunt as I can be.

She is comically taken aback, head jerking and a hand flying to her chest. "What? Under what grounds? Why haven't I been informed of this?"

Damned if I know. I take another drink and pour a glass for Pricilla. I hold it out to her. "Some investigator with Academy Bodyguards has been asking questions about the two of us."

Pricilla turns down the drink. I down it for her. Pricilla paces. "How could they suggest such a thing? You may have implied a preference for Ike Meadows, but the Games are the Games. I cannot directly control every iota, nor do I want to. The inherent randomness of the individual tributes is part of the appeal. And I certainly won't compromise my integrity for you."

"You got him to the final eight, Prissy! With the wolf mutts." I tell her, my voice coming out a bit too loud courtesy of the whiskey. "People are pissed. The designer that made those mutts, Christine Tiber, is getting threats. Forms are calling for her resignation at minimum. So it looked weird, that you killed them off like that, so someone is digging into why. Then they see my bets and the answer gets obvious."

"Those two were going private too often, it was hurting overall ratings and view time, even if it was very popular amongst a minority. A minority that has, yes, turned out to be quite vocal. I did not eliminate them to rig the Games because of your gambling problem, Jay."

"That doesn't matter! What matters is that it looks like you did!" I point out, loudly, hating that she can't get the obvious.

No one gives a shit about reality. They give a shit about what they think is reality.

I doesn't help that I actually did want her to rig the Games.

And still do.

"He can't win, Prissy. Ike Meadows being Victor is as good as death for us."

Pricilla folds her arms and looks just like mom. "Are you seriously suggesting that I rig the Games, to make it appear as if I didn't rig the Games?"

"Not saying it's a good idea. Just saying we're dead if you don't."

"No, Jay. The Games continue at their current pacing unless the President himself tells me otherwise. His victory is not guaranteed, anyways. Nothing is."

I raise the final glass as a toast. "Then it was nice knowing us."

* * *

**Day 19**

**Ike Meadows**  
**District 12, Male Tribute**

In the gloom just before morning light comes, I take a moment to stretch my legs and relieve myself. I refill my canteen in the lake. Eating the last biscuit I grabbed from the feast, I go back into the Cornucopia and hide myself on the crates at the first hint of morning light.

Morning comes with an eerie kind of silence. There is a mist that rolls off the lake, seeming to snake up into the woods, getting denser as it goes.

A few tendrils snake into the Cornucopia. There are insects in the mist, tiny blue-hued wings flapping rapidly. Sharp stingers are visible on the ends of their thin bodies. The mist and its insects leave me be. I guess the Gamemakers think it is okay that I'm here.

The Cornucopia, while providing good shelter, limits my vision. I nearly jump when Wolfe appears, running from a thick cloud of mist. I hide myself deeper in the shadows. Wolfe pauses when he reaches the rocky shore, checking behind him to see that the cloud of mist has stopped at the tree line.

Wolfe approaches the Cornucopia. He pokes around the few supplies that still lay around the Cornucopia. I have made sure not to move too much stuff and accidently give away that I've been around here.

His head snaps up, his axe at the ready. He makes no move to throw. He is not looking inside the Cornucopia but at something outside it.

Pluta appears, also chased by a cloud of mist that stops at the tree line. The left sleeve of her jacket has been torn off and the shirt beneath is bloodstained. Something attacked her recently. Her face is bruised, but those wounds look older. 

Wolfe and Pluta eye each other but make no moves to attack. No words pass between them. Wolfe still has his axe in hand, but ducks inside the entrance of the Cornucopia and sits down.

Pluta takes up the position opposite him. The unspoken truce between the two of them holds as it did during the feast. 

Slowly and carefully, as to not touch anything, I clamp my hand over my mouth. If I make a single noise, I am dead. There are two Careers sitting just feet away from me. My heart pounds in my chest, my pulse roaring in my ears. All logic dictates that they cannot actually hear it. But I swear they should be able to.

Pluta pointedly looks out to the surrounding arena. "He'll show up soon."

She said "he." Singular. Is it possible that she has lost count of the number of tributes left?

Wolfe cocks his head slightly, his forehead creasing. His expression goes back to neutral. He shrugs and looks out toward the woods. "He'll show."

Again, the use of the singular. I think he came to the same conclusion as I did. Pluta must think it's just her, Wolfe, and either me or Antonio left.

If she's waiting for me, then, well, I'm not coming from that direction.

The air is tense with the waiting. My left foot is falling asleep but I cannot move to alleviate it.

Time crawls.

The Careers maintain their positions, shifting occasionally to prevent their muscles from cramping, but still with their backs to the Cornucopia walls and eyes fixed on the distance. They tense, their muscles coiling. The pair of them get up and step in front of the Cornucopia. I edge forward just a hair, sinking lower and craning my neck to get a better view. The Careers have their attention fixated on whatever moves outside. It's a very high probability that the Gamemakers will send mutts to prompt us all into action.

I can see maybe fifty feet out before the roof of the Cornucopia blocks my vision.

It's Antonio, not mutts, running toward the Cornucopia. The mist has now condensed to a thick fog that has covered all of the mountain slopes that surround the valley containing the lake. The air hums faintly with the buzz of the insects' wings. That's the Gamemakers way of getting everyone gathered here.

Antonio has a long stick he's sharpened into a spear, the tip blackened with fire to harden it. A coil of rope is slung over one of his arms. A lasso, not a net. Antonio lets the rope slide down until it is in his hand.

The mists and insects swirl in a barrier around the lake. The woods become completely hidden by the mists. A few ragged strands spread over the lake. The Cornucopia is ringed in, keeping all of us here.

Antonio stops a dozen paces away from the two Careers.

"Two against one doesn't seem very fair." He calls to them. "How about a melee, Careers? One on one. I bet I can beat you both."

Wolfe spins an axe in one hand. "You know what you're getting yourself into, Ten?"

Pluta tenses, her knives in hand. Wolfe surges forward. Antonio holds his ground, like it's a bull charging him, spear leveling with Wolfe's chest. Wolfe's arm arcs and the axe spins through the air.

The weapon sinks into Antonio's chest before he can move out of the way. The force staggers him and he falls, screaming in pain. Antonio clutches at the weapon. Blood spurts. His arms go slack.

Wolfe slows his charge to a jog. He plucks the axe from Antonio's chest like it's nothing.

A cannon fires.

Pluta moves and I can see the metallic blur of a knife going toward Wolfe. The knife strikes Wolfe in the arm. The beginning of a shout turns to a hiss between bared teeth.

She really has lost count.

The Careers are blurs.

Pluta throws another knife and it misses. Wolfe keeps his weapons, an axe now in each hand and his long strides close the distance quickly. Pluta dances aside. Another knife thrown and it's in Wolfe's left leg, the soft part between upper thigh and hipbone. Full of vessels that spurt blood and muscles that cause him to falter at their severing.

His moment carries him, crashing into Pluta. They fall before the Cornucopia, perfectly in my vision. A swift grapple that breaks with a knife in Wolfe's eye. Yet it does not kill him, sending him reeling back instead.

I clamp my hand over my mouth again to muffle myself. Bile rises in my throat. I swallow it down.

Pluta darts forward, a long knife in hand, aiming for Wolfe's gut. He lashes out with an axe. A high scream and I see that Pluta's hand clutching the long knife is on the ground.

Pluta pulls the knife from Wolfe's leg. Blood spurts from his leg and from her stump of a wrist and from his eye. Wolfe's massive form collapses. Blood pools over the stones.

A cannon fires.

Pluta clutches the bleeding stump of her wrist, slowing the flow of blood, and looks up to the sky. A grin spreads across her face. No announcement comes. Her grin falters and her eyes go wide.

Pluta is not alone in the arena. She is not the Victor. Because I am still here and I am not going to let her be the Victor.

I do not want to risk some Gamemaker twist. Mutts or anything else making an appearance to decide the ending for us. I have to act.

I ease back, stepping off the crate. I let the feeling return to my legs in a rush of pins and needles. I grip my rock tight in my hands.

Before anything or anyone can stop me, I creep up behind Pluta. The creeping is not done well enough. She starts to turn. I raise the rock high and bring it down once, then twice, then thrice, and she falls.

Her face is pulped from the blows. She may as well have no head at all.

I step back. My boot lands in the pool of blood around Wolfe. So, I freeze, stuck between two.

A cannon fires.

Pluta is dead. I'm alive.

I'm the last one alive.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Gemmus Laurel announces, "I am pleased to present the Victor of the Ninetieth Hunger Games, Ike Meadows of District 12."

A hovercraft appears midair, a ladder dropping down a few paces in front of me. I toss my rock aside and run to the ladder. I cling to it. A current freezes me in place and I am whisked up into the belly of the hovercraft.

The doors close behind me, cutting me off from the bodies of the Careers and the arena. It is over. It is done. I am here and it is gone.

Someone leads me over to a table. A needle plunges into my arm. Things start to get nice and soft and I fall asleep.

* * *

**Lynn Rayna**  
**District 4**  
**Victor of the 87th Hunger Games**

Hahahahaha.

It's so funny that I'm crying. That's it. That's why.

It's just so _funny_. (No, it's not).

District 12 has its fifth Victor.

The little brother of the boy I killed.

And I'm crying.


	20. Chapter 20

**Ike Meadows**   
**District 12**   
**Victor of the 90th Hunger Games**

A beeping noise wakes me up. The air is a chemical clean and I am on a cot. It's like the nurse's office at school, but a whole lot cleaner and with more types of machines. Tubes and wires go from the machines to me. Needles are in my left arm, connected to the machine with tubes that are pumping liquids into my veins. My head is foggy, and everything seems nice and slow.

The beeping noise matches my heartrate.

A seam opens up in the wall, revealing an otherwise hidden doorway.

An Avox comes in and he has breakfast with him. There is buttered toast and scrambled eggs and a tall glass of orange juice. The Avox presses a button on the side of the cot. The cot moves, bringing me to a sitting position and a table extends over my lap. The tray is set on the table and the Avox hands me a fork. He smiles and leaves.

I eat slow, savoring each bite. The scrambled eggs are perfect. I've always wanted to own a chicken or two for the eggs. Whenever we have a little extra money, eggs are always what I ask for. Not cookies or candy. I just want an egg.

I can do that now. I can have chickens. I can have whatever I want. Because I'm a Victor.

I get a house in the Victor's Village and can let my family move in with me. That means no more living in the Seam. I wonder if I can let Daisy live with us.

As long as I'm alive, I get a stipend to buy whatever anyone needs. No one will have to work. At least, not in the mines. They can do what they want.

Mom can do woodworking again. Dad can have a vegetable garden like he's always wanted.

After a few hours, there is a cool rush from the tubes that washes through my arm and into the rest of me. I feel really sleepy.

* * *

"Ike. Come back. Don't leave me again." Sally's voice drifts through the mists.

"I can't. I have to go." I call back, searching for the hovercraft that is supposed to take me out of the arena.

Where is it? The hovercraft should be here. I am the only one left alive.

"Don't leave me." Sally wails in the distance.

The hovercraft won't come until I find her. Find her and finish things. But I can't. I can't kill her. I'm not like Careers.

I'll be stuck here forever.

* * *

The beeping noise is back, waking me up. Dregs of the nightmare cling to me but I cannot remember specifically what it was about. All I can remember is the guilt.

It must be either lunchtime or dinnertime because the bed is in a sitting position and the table has a tray on it. There is a bowl of broth, a few thin slices of chicken, a sliced apple, and another cup of orange juice.

I eat all of the food and it sits heavy in my stomach.

The guilt nags at me.

Sally. Of course.

I don't want to think about Sally. I want to think about anything but Sally. But trying hard not to think about Sally means I can't think about anything else.

I keep trying to not think about Sally until the machines put me to sleep again.

* * *

Waking up, the vague haze that has been clutching the back of my mind is gone. Painkillers are no longer being pumped into me. Some lingering aches are left, but that's not too bad.

I become acutely aware of the sensation of someone else being in the room.

I open my eyes. The bed has already been brought into a sitting position and someone sits at my bedside.

It's President Ferrum. He reads a book, holding it open in one hand. He does not look away from the book. "Hello, Mister Meadows."

Is this normal? Does the president always greet the new Victor personally?

"Hello, sir." I reply, not know what else to say.

President Ferrum marks his place in the book with a ribbon and sets it in his lap. The title on the cover reads Rubicon. President Ferrum smiles at me. It's not a nice smile. It might not be wild, but it reminds me of the grin that Delphinia flashed me when we were next to each other at the Bloodbath.

"I'm here to clarify some things for you, Mister Meadows. Now, everyone may be calling you a Victor, but that is more owing to the fact that Survivor is not a very good title. Just because you survived the Games, does not mean you can just do whatever you want now. There are some expectations."

I nod, even though I do not really understand what he's trying to get at yet. It makes sense. There's the Victory Tour at the end of the year. I will have to mentor, too. But I don't see why President Ferrum would be explaining any of that to me. Surely there's other Capitol people whose job is to do that stuff.

President Ferrum continues, "I can guarantee your family's safety. The safety of the Mays as well. No Reapings, no accidents in the mines. But, this guarantee only lasts as long as you do as asked and follow the rules. I'm sure you are aware that Mister Abernathy's family is no longer among the living. That's because he did not follow the rules. Do you understand?"

I understand the implication is that if I disobey, my family and the Mays get killed. President Ferrum keeps smiling at me.

I am still hooked up to the monitors. They beep faster as my heartrate increases. I try to keep my voice steady, despite my fear being audible anyways. "Yes, sir, I understand. What are the rules?"

"Fortunately, there is only one real rule and it's very simple. You do exactly as I say. And all I want is your cooperation. The first thing is that you do not become a useless drunkard like your mentor. There needs to be some level of competency from your District. The second is just doing good business."

I do not know what business he means. Since I'm not sure and don't want to get it wrong, I ask, "What will I need to do?"

President Ferrum turns serious, the smile fading. "Some citizens may choose to buy your time. When they've bought your time, as long as it lasts, you do as they say. They may do with you whatever they please, as long as it does not cause extensive physical damage. You will receive a time, place, and name. Black envelopes, discretely, and only when you are in the Capitol."

I think I know what he's getting at, with people buying my "time." It's more they're buying my body. There are some people, a lot of them are older girls who are Reaping age and afraid of taking tesserae, who get desperate enough that they sell their bodies to the Peacekeepers for a bit of money or food. Then there's been those rumors about some tapes that got released after President Snow's death about him prostituting Victors.

I always thought it was bullshit. I thought that even the Capitol would not stoop that low. I'm naive at best and an idiot at worst for thinking that. Of course that's not too low for them.

"I understand, sir." I tell him, in a small voice, because I _do_ understand the meaning behind his words and it terrifies me.

President Ferrum gives me a curt nod. "Good. I do hope we can have a productive working relationship, Mister Meadows. It would be good for everyone to have a cooperative Victor from your District."

He stands, tucking his book under his arm and pressing a button on the machine at my bedside. "Get some rest, Mister Meadows. I'll see you at the Recap."

There is a rush of something cold through the tubes. Terror still grips me as the darkness pulls me under.

* * *

Burl walks beside me. I cannot see him through the mist between us but I know that it is him.

"Burl, what do I do?"

"I don't know. You're the leader. It's your choice."

"I never wanted to be the leader. I thought you were going to get the highest score. Now it's my fault you're all dead."

We keep walking through the mist. Insects buzz by us but make no movements to attack. The forest around us changes subtly, going from pine to hardwoods. This is not my arena anymore.

I spot the mossy stream and I know whose it is.

"I want to go back." I tell Burl, but it is like I am no longer in control of my legs. "I don't want to see this."

"Why don't you want to see your brother? I know I'd want to see me family." Burl asks me.

"Because he's going to die. She's going to kill him!" My voice rises in panic.

"Don't you dare touch her, Career!" Jet shouts and those are the last words he ever said.

And it is before me.

Lynn, standing with her foot on Mary's shoulder, pushes the blade down. She keeps pushing until the cannon fires.

Jet tackles her, sending them both to the ground. I want to shout at him to run, to give up, and get to safety but no words come out.

They grapple; he head-butts her and she knees him and he punches her and she screams. Dove helps her. I also want to shout at Dove, to tell her not to bother because doesn't she know Lynn will kill her, too? She should know. She should _know_.

Dove pulls the trident from Jet's side and blood flows from the wound. He bends over double, clutching at his side. There is nothing I can do. I cannot look away and I cannot run.

Lynn staggers to her feet, sword in hand. She must be in pain.

Why do I care about that?

I blink. I look down and I'm on top of Phil, covered in his blood. My leg hurts from where he stabbed me. He talked about family during his interview. Two little sisters.

That's why I care that Lynn must have been in pain. Because we're the same now.


	21. Chapter 21

**Mia Cardew**   
**Capitol Citizen**   
**Stylist for District 12**

Fulvia gets my attentions and speaks rapidly in sign, "He is new hope."

I set down the shirt, unable to look at my work to have a conversation with her. I've gotten used to it over the years.

"We talked about this already. No. I'm not helping in whatever new plan you're involved in to create another child martyr."

"Little sister. Please."

"I'm not Cinna." I snap preemptively, knowing the comparison is coming. "I took this job because I'm still up to my tits in debt buying your freedom."

Fulvia recoils like I've struck her. Well, now I feel like shit.

I quickly apologize. "Sorry. The debt isn't why I'm mad. I'd do it again. Always. I love you. It's just... It failed last time." Frequent checks for bugs let me speak freely, so I continue. "You're one of the only top people left. We lost all of District 13. We lost Plutarch, Effie, and Cressida. No one knows what happened to Cinna; he's probably dead, but we don't even know that for sure. The Districts don't trust any of us as far as they can throw us. I thought Haymitch was going to strangle me when he realized I was the new stylist."

Fulvia huffs angrily me before speaking in sign again. "New methods. No martyrs. We are not facing Snow. There is a chance. Slow changes from within. Help with this."

"Sis, no. I can't do it again. Not after last time. If I was a starry-eyed seventeen-year-old again, maybe I would go along with it. But I'm not." I pick the shirt up again. "I need to finish this. The reunion is in an hour and I know I'll have to make fit adjustments before the recap."

* * *

**Ike Meadows**   
**District 12**   
**Victor of the 90th Hunger Games**

The light dinner of roasted chicken and green beans sits heavy in my stomach.

I fidget underneath the stage, not knowing what is coming. The Recap is coming, of course, but I do not know what to expect from it. What will make the highlight reel of my games.

My games. It is still a strange phrase. I am a Victor. A Survivor.

In the Capitol records, there is now an entry for the Victor of the 90th Hunger Games that has my information next to it. The number 90 is rosy pink, like the first light of dawn.

For the Recap, Mia has dressed me in black pants and a black button-down shirt. The buttons and all the stitches are gold. One of the threads is a little loose and I have to resist the urge to tug on it. For some reason, I just want to watch it all unravel and fall apart.

Workers rush around under the stage, setting things up for the Recap that will be starting any minute now time now.

Haymitch shows up. He's dressed in black pants and a crisp grey shirt and someone managed to tame his hair somewhat, combing it back from his face. I give him a tired smile, though it probably looks more like a grimace.

He rests a hand on my shoulder and he only smells a tiny bit like whiskey. "You've done well, Ike."

I think that's the first time he's ever called me by my name.

"Is there anything I should expect?" I ask, not knowing what else to say.

Haymitch shrugs. "Nah, nothing you need to be worrying about. They're not pushing for any kind of angle with you. Just stay quiet and keep your chin up."

Some of the workers fetch Haymitch and guide him toward one of the plates. I can see deeper beneath the stage where my prep team and Mia are already on plates of their own.

I have to step onto a plate and find myself hesitating for a moment. I am afraid of what waits for me above. The last time a plate whisked me upwards, Delphinia tried to kill me. But she's dead and I'm not.

The worker prompts me again and I do as instructed.

The crowd cheers for my prep team. Then they cheer for Mortimer. Then Mia. Then Haymitch.

My plate rises and I am alive because others are not.

The light is blinding and the cheer of the crowd deafening. I give a smile and, after a moment, a hesitant wave. Smiling and waving is what I've seen other Victors do.

Gaius Flickerman comes to my rescue. He shakes my hand, congratulates me on my Victory, and leads my over to the Victor's chair. I have to step up onto a platform to reach the chair. The chair dwarfs me, engulfing me in dark wood and red velvet.

The Recap begins.

On the chariots, I look nearly bewildered, starting out at the crowds around me. There is a camera that pans across my face now and I cannot help but think that my expression is not that much different. But I look harder now. There are dark circles under my eyes that even the best makeup cannot completely hide. My muscles are all tensed, ready to flee, even though there is nowhere to go.

It's an underdog narrative, even I can tell that. It will continue to be an underdog story. I might be alive, but I'm not a Victor, not like the others. Not like the Careers, who know what they're doing by now. Hell, even Haymitch has lasted this long, in spite of everything. I know I'm not strong like that.

They show my struggle with Delphinia in full. I can still feel her hands around my neck, trying to squeeze the life from me. Delphinia leers down at me but it's not her. It's Lynn with her hands around my throat, leering at me and saying she wants to cut my head off.

I have to bite my tongue hard to refocus.

They keep playing the Bloodbath, showing my struggle with the girl over the backpack. 

When it shows me hitting her in the head, there is commentary on how I had the first Bloodbath kill from District 12 in nearly thirty years.

So, I did kill her. I killed someone without fully realizing it. Certainly not at the time. I do not know her name. She is the girl from District 10. If she had just let go, I would not have had to kill her.

On the screen, I run from the Bloodbath.

The Recap changes focus for a moment. Cord is on the screen now, on the opposite side of the Cornucopia from where I was. She is near the edge of the woods and Hannah is with her. I'm confused by this, since Cord had told us that Hannah had run off.

Hannah looks around, not paying attention to Cord. Cord takes a lantern, the same one she wold later make the taser from, and swings it at Hannah's head. The lantern connects with the back of Hannah's skull and kncoks her out cold. Cord takes the pack that Hannah had grabbed and runs off.

The Recap footage shifts to show the alliance all meeting up and our departure into the woods.

I am too distracted by the revelation to pay attention to what the recap contains next.

Cord betrayed us from the start. The blow did not kill Hannah, she died on the seventh day. But she would have been with us if not for Cord. I cannot comprehend why Cord would do that.

There are more and more moments of Cord's betrayal of us. There were edible plants she clearly saw while on watch at night, and took only for herself. Bits of food she stoles from our packs. She poured water out of our canteens and into her own.

I don't know how I never noticed it. I can't figure out why she did it. Why hurt her own alliance? Doing it to others, I can understand the logic of, but we protected her.

Mutts killed Marmot, not the Careers. There's little difference in it.

I just keep on watching in confusion and horror. On the screen, it is almost like watching someone else go through everything. I feel detached and it's nice and I want it to stay that way.

People keep dying.

Then it's the footage from the ninth day because I see Millet approaching our alliance. Phil attacks and Burl dies. I watch myself kill Phil. The blank is filled in by a flurry of blood. I remember the strain in my arms as I kept on stabbing.

I don't want to remember. I don't want to think anymore.


End file.
